All We Cannot See
by kEs-2717
Summary: Aramis Stark has always been headstrong, to the chagrin of her family. In the face of a devastating ultimatum, she is presented with an opportunity to join the OSS. Her training and war-time activities put her on the same path as the men of Easy, taking them on an incredible journey that will change their lives & the course of history. Expanded summary inside. Malarkey/OC, Grant/OC
1. We Used to Wait

**Expanded Summary:** Aramis Stark has always been headstrong, much to the chagrin of her family. In the face of a devastating ultimatum, she is presented with an incredible opportunity to join the Office of Strategic Services working in the Secret Intelligence Division, a newly formed government organization that would become the precursor to the modern day CIA. Their training and war-time activities place them on the same path as the men of Easy Company of the 101st Airborne Division, taking them on an incredible journey across Europe that will change their lives and the course of history.

**Authors Note:** This has the mildest of crossovers with the Marvel Universe. It is so negligible, I didn't bother to list it as such, and unless you have seen Captain America, you likely won't notice. You will see mentions of Howard Stark and Stark Enterprises, but it really only serves to give deeper context to who Aramis is, and further plausibility to how she might have the ability to do the things she does.

**Authors Note 2:** I don't own Band of Brothers, nor do I own Howard Stark or Stark Enterprises, and there is no intention of copyright infringement. I do, however, own Aramis Stark, and the other original fiction characters within the story.

**Authors Note 3:** I did my best to do as much research as possible when writing this. Stanley Lovell, William Donovan, David K.E. Bruce, and the Office of Strategic Services were all quite real, and I tried to weave as much history into this story as humanly possible. That said, I did take some artistic license to make certain things fit as my imagination needed them to.

* * *

**All We Cannot See**

**Chapter 1: We Used to Wait**

April 1942

The city was alive this morning as the first breath of spring sighed over New York City, buzzing with a flurry of newly found exuberance that only came with the seasonal shift to a more temperate climate. It was warm and the streets were brimming with people, excited to take advantage of the sunny weather and the ability to walk to work. She stepped out of her building, waving at her doorman as she passed, and stepped out into the bustling metropolis of midtown Manhattan.

"Would you like me to get a cab for you, Miss Stark?" He asked.

"No thank you, Clive. It's such a beautiful day I think I'll walk. And how many times do I have to ask you to call me Aramis?" She chided him gently.

"Probably a few more, Miss Stark." He said with a wink. "You be careful now, Spring does funny things to people." She smiled and pulled the aviator sunglasses her brother had given her over her ash gray eyes.

"Nothing I can't handle." Clive laughed.

"That's my girl."

It was warmer than she anticipated, and she grabbed one of the elastic bands they used to hold draft paper out of her bag and pulled her hair up into a ponytail, the large golden brown curls bouncing with each step. She stopped at her usual spot, greeting the gentleman with a kind smile as he passed her morning routine to her in exchange for a $1 bill. Her brother told her she was insane for spending a whole dollar on coffee and a croissant from a street vendor. She reminded him he was using the term insane improperly, and that not everyone was as fortunate as they were.

She continued down Central Park South, smiling at the budding leaves on the trees and diving around a stream of school children walking toward Columbus Circle. She turned down 5th Avenue, passing the Plaza Hotel and hoping she didn't run into her mother. She was supposed to be attending a breakfast for a charity whose name and cause she couldn't recall. She took a bite of her croissant and ducked her head, hoping her sunglasses and breakfast would be sufficient to hide her face from prying eyes.

She stepped off the street into an office building on Fifth Avenue, just off 55th Street and just across from the St. Regis hotel. Stark Enterprises New York headquarters was a marvel. The gothic architecture that faced one of the most lavish and expensive shopping districts in the country was a strange location for a munitions designer and manufacturer. Most of their competitors were based out of Washington D.C., Virginia, or other places in the West. When asked his motivation for locating in New York, her father Howard Stark Sr. replied: "Because it's New York. Does one need another reason?" No one asked again. She walked across the lobby briskly, her black flats slipping quietly across the shiny marble floor. Thankfully she had arrived early, so there was no chance of her father seeing her "without proper shoes on." He hated it when she wasn't wearing heels.

"Good morning Henry!" She greeted the guard on duty. He lifted his head from his newspaper behind his desk, and smiled when he saw her. He hurried out from behind the guard desk, and opened the gate for her.

"Good morning, Miss Stark!" He replied cheerfully. She whispered a quick thank you as she passed him and hurried to the elevator bay. Pressing the button, she waited quietly, taking a bite of her croissant and a sip of her coffee. The doors opened, and she stepped through.

"Morning Charles." She said to the operator. He smiled at her

"Good morning to you, Miss Stark." He said kindly, pushing the button for the 42nd floor. "All ready for the big meeting?" She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head, tangling them in her hair. She rolled her eyes.

"You know I'm never one to be unprepared." She took another sip of her coffee.

"And Mr. Stark?" She made a face

"We're about to find out…" The doors to the elevator opened, revealing the lobby of her floor. "Have a great day Charles." She said to him, exiting at the same brisk pace at which she had entered. She turned the corner, and headed down the hall to her office.

"Morning, Trudy" She greeted her assistant breathlessly.

"Morning, Aramis." Trudy called back. She rose from her desk as Aramis swooped in, and followed her through the door to her office. "I have your messages from yesterday. Also, Leon called, apparently Howard was in the lab until just a few hours ago." Aramis' head sprang up from the assortment of newspapers on her desk to look at her assistant.

"He was up all night?!" Aramis cried incredulously. Trudy shrugged.

"Apparently."

"I'm going to kill him! We have a meeting in D.C. at 4:00!"

"I know." Trudy said sympathetically. "I think he's taking a nap in his office. His door and blinds were closed when I got here, and Sara had a guilty look on her face." Aramis shook her head and took a sip of her coffee.

"He's definitely sleeping. Of all days…" She set her coffee down and moved around her desk, making her way out of her office.

"Oh, Aramis?" Trudy said quietly. Aramis stopped and turned to face her assistant. "Your father wanted to see you as well. He said for you to stop by his office." Aramis gave a dismissive wave to the message.

"Junior first. Senior can wait. Are all the documents ready to go?" Trudy nodded.

"Yes. They should be delivered from the printer later this morning. Though, you might want to check with Mr. Stark. I think he made some changes you should be aware of." Aramis growled.

"Ugh! I'm going to kill him!" She marched over to her brother's office, her eyes set on his secretary. She definitely had a guilty look on her face.

"Uh, Miss Stark! Good morning!: She said nervously. Aramis blew by her. "Please don't…" She started

"Save it, Sara. I need to speak with him." She threw Howard's door open and stormed into his office.

She heard a groan, drawing her eyes to the couch next to his bookcase. He lay there, with one arm draped over his face, the other dangling toward the ground. She tisked him, crossed his office and threw open the curtains, illuminating the room with the light of the morning.

"What the..?!" He jumped, curling his body away from the light like a vampire. "Sara! I told you not to let anyone in!" He exclaimed, his voice heavy with sleep.

"Like she could have stopped me." Aramis retorted.

"Ugh… Especially not her." Howard said, bringing himself to a seated position.

"Trudy says you were up all night?!" She demanded. She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. Her eyes glanced at his left hand, and she saw a glass with a familiarly amber colored liquid inside of it. "I swear to God, Howard, if you were out drinking I will throw you out the window." Her voice was dangerous. Howard rolled his eyes.

"Relax, Boo." He said, using her childhood nickname. "I was up all night perfecting the products for our meeting this afternoon. I poured this before I passed out to try to coax myself to sleep. Turns out I didn't need it." He lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. "Though it still tastes lovely." She groaned at him.

"It's 9:00 in the morning, Howard. Get it together!" She reached forward and swiped the drink from his hand, handing it to Sara in one motion. He stood from the couch and walked across his office toward his desk.

"You're certainly a ray of sunshine this morning." He said, picking up a pack of cigarettes, putting one to his lips and lighting it.

"I was in a fantastic mood until I heard you were up all night. You don't have a stellar track record with being on time or prepared for meetings. Or have you forgotten how many times I've had to cover for you with the board. And dad. And the engineers. And the city. And General Marshall…"

"Alright, alright. You don't need to list off all my esteemed accomplishments." He said, waving his hand at her dismissively. Her eyes went wide.

"That's just the last 2 months, Howard! I could keep going for ages!" Sara stifled a giggle next to them. They turned and glared at her, their movements synchronized. She stopped abruptly.

"I'll, um, just go take care of this…somewhere else…" She stepped out and closed the door behind her. Howard moved behind his desk, tapped the ash off his cigarette and sat down.

She sat on the corner of his desk, glaring daggers at him.

"So would you mind sharing all the 'perfections' you were making to our products?" He put his cigarette between his lips, and started unbuttoning his white shirt. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk, and reached in, retrieving a brand new undershirt, still in Saks Fifth Avenue packaging.

"Increased the amount of time you can set the limpet mines for. Took some of the weight out of the silencer by making the barrel attachment smaller, which also made it quieter. Figured out a way to make the C4 putty safe to handle with bare hands. You know, just little things." He said casually. She narrowed her eyes at him, and stared at him hard.

"Oh yeah, little things." She said, making a face. "Well, the figures on the briefing pages will be wrong. But I can't imagine you even considered that." He exhaled a puff of smoke at her.

"We still use briefing pages? Are we planning on selling them high quantities of mustard gas to drop over the trenches too?" She rolled her eyes again.

"You're intolerable when you haven't slept." She stood and moved to exit his office.

"You're the one who woke me up." He retorted. He stood, and walked over to the far wall of his office, pressing a wall panel to release a spring door, and opening an office closet. He stripped off the old white shirt and pulled a new one from a closet. "Now will you get out of here so I can change in peace, please?"

"That depends. Are you going to change and get some work done, or are you going to go back to sleep as soon as I close the door?" She stood in the doorway, her hand resting on the doorknob.

"I haven't decided yet." She sighed with exasperation.

"Do you at least have new figures written down so I can try to amend the reports?" He sighed and slumped his shoulders, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He turned back to his desk and rummaged around until he found a piece paper, which he picked up and thrust in her direction. She pursed her lips and stepped back into his office, taking it from his grasp.

"Thank you." She said genuinely. She looked at the page in her hand. "Jesus, you were able to take off that many decibels?!" She exclaimed.

"You know," He said softly. "The little things." He winked at her. She smiled. "Now get out."

"You're such a gentleman." She said as she walked away.

"You love me!" he said as she retreated.

"Only when you get your shit done." She retorted as she walked down the hallway.

She strode back over to her office briskly, hoping it wouldn't be too late to amend the reports. She stopped in front of Trudy's desk, her face apologetic and hopeful.

"I'm really sorry, but Howard was making improvements all night. I guess some of the figures for the products are different. Can you make the changes to the briefing forms, or is it too late?" Trudy smiled at her.

"Leon left them on my desk when they finished. I already called the printer. He had the new figures messengered to their offices, and they're making the changes."

"I'm going to have you and Leon recommended for Sainthood, I swear." Aramis exclaimed, breathing a sigh of relief. Trudy smiled.

"Anything else I can get for you?" Aramis shook her head.

"I'm just going to try to run over these figures. Do you know when Leon will be back in?"

"I think he said he would try to be back around 10:30." Aramis nodded.

"Schedule a lunch with he, Howard, and I at 11:00? Actually, arrange to have it delivered to the lab. I want them to show me the improvements they made. Tell Howard if he skips out on me to go on a date, I will tear out his ribcage and wear it as a hat." Trudy started laughing.

"That exact language?"

"Verbatim."

"Will do." Looked up at Trudy from reports

"What would I do without you?"

"Murder your brother." They both laughed, Aramis turned back to the reports and started looking them over, poring over every last detail to try and prepare for the meeting ahead of her.

* * *

She re-entered her office briskly, sifting through the papers in her hand and reviewing the figures in front of her. After the lunch with Leon and Howard, her mind was buzzing with excitement, and she was looking forward to this meeting more than others in the past. If Howard and Leon's projections were accurate, and she knew they were, they were looking at a huge new contract that could bring in tens of millions of dollars. She took a sip of sparkling water as she set the papers down, fanning them across her desk as she checked and double-checked the figures. A soft knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Aramis?" Trudy asked softly.

"Hm?" She replied absently, her eyes still glued to the papers in front of her. "Oh!" She looked back at her assistant, recognizing how rude she was being. "Sorry. Did the doorman drop off my suitcase? Howard wants to stay in D.C. tonight." Her assistant nodded affirmatively, her arms crossed over her chest defensively, as if she was anxious.

"Yes, he did." She replied. Aramis' gaze fell back to the papers in front of her. "But Aramis..?" Trudy continued.

"Hm?" She responded again, waiting a moment before looking up.

"Your father still wants to see you. He came by while you were at lunch, asking if I had delivered the message to you." Aramis' brow furrowed. It was unlike her father to check in on her, especially to leave his office to come by hers. It must have been important.

"I'm so sorry, Trudy. I completely forgot. That's so strange. I'll head over now." Trudy nodded. She looked a little tense. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course. It was just strange to speak with him in person is all." She nodded. Her father could be very intimidating. His brevity wasn't a quality that won him many friends.

"He's harmless." She said with a kind smile. She placed her hand on Trudy's shoulder gently, reassuring her. "I'll be back soon." She said. She walked across the office, her steps muted by the thick carpet. She rounded the corner and approached the corner of her father's office, stopping in front of his assistant's desk.

"Hi Elizabeth. Is he in?" She said politely. Elizabeth looked up over her horn rimmed glasses, her critical eyes settling on Aramis' face with a haughty boredom.

"Miss Stark. Yes. One moment, he's on a call, but I'll tell him you're here. He's been expecting you all day." She said, her tone almost scolding. Aramis arched an eyebrow at the woman. "Have a seat, please." She said dismissively. Aramis rolled her eyes and sat in the chair in front of her father's office, wondering what was going on and why he needed to see her so desperately. She placed her hands in her lap politely and waited for her father to finish his meeting. The door to his office opened a few minutes later, and she saw the familiar gray hair poke out the door.

"Send her in." He said to Elizabeth, his voice stern and deadpan, before retreating into his office. She stood and smoothed the skirt of her dress, adjusting the delicate pleats before starting toward the door.

"You can go in." Elizabeth directed, gesturing toward the door.

"Yes, I inferred that. Thank you." Aramis responded sarcastically. She placed her hand on the handle of the door gently and walked into his office_._

It was just as she remembered: thick gray carpet, rich cherry wood furnishings, immaculately tidy desk, a portrait of her mother, a portrait of she and Howard, thick clouds of cigarette smoke, a crystal decanter of Macallan 21, and one of the most beautiful views overlooking 5th Avenue she had ever seen. She remembered sitting next to the window as a child, pretending her dolls were giants that walked over the buildings of Manhattan, helping the construction crews build as the city came alive around them.

"Aramis, sit down." Howard Sr. said gruffly. She arched an eyebrow at him as she closed the door, looking at him strangely as she continued into his office.

"Hi Dad." She said sharply.

"Sorry, dear." He said, shaking his head. He came around his desk and embraced her stiffly, pressing an awkward kiss her cheek. "How was lunch with Howard and Leon?" She chuckled inwardly, gripping his elbows softly as he "hugged" her.

"It was great." She said, trying to hide her enthusiasm as they pulled away from one another. Her father moved behind his desk and returned to his chair as she took a seat in front of him. "We went over all the new products we're delivering to Howard's old MIT professor. Apparently he's linked up with a new division of the military that's going to do something with intelligence. Naturally, Howard is like a kid in a candy store. It's like a feast for his imagination." She joked lightly.

"And how has his imagination fared so far?" She nodded.

"He and Leon have produced some great stuff. I guess they were up all night making improvements."

"So I heard. That's wonderful. So the meeting will go well?"

"As long as Howard behaves himself, I think so."

"Good. That's very good." He said. He was leaning on his desk, resting his elbows against the smooth leather of the cover with his fingers clasped together tightly. He was silent for a moment, avoiding her gaze as he began to flex his fingers, almost as though he was agitated or nervous. She arched an eyebrow at him, wondering what had him so worked up.

"You wanted to see me?" She said expectantly, finally breaking the silence.

"Yes." He responded, clearing his throat. "Aramis, your mother and I think it's time for you to get your priorities straight." Her eyebrow arched even higher.

"I beg your pardon?" She deadpanned.

"Frankly, it's unseemly for a young lady to be spending her time at an office when she has no reason to do so. You have no need to continue working here, I have done everything in my power to ensure that." Both of her eyebrows went skyward.

"Excuse me?" She said incredulously.

"Your mother can't understand why you have continuously refused her requests to join her on the boards of the charities. She says you consistently decline her invitations to have lunch with the other society ladies, and that you rarely spend any time with other women in general."

"Right. Because I'm usually too busy working. I'm sure you're aware, but your son can be a bit of a handful sometimes."

"Well, that shouldn't be an issue going forward." Aramis' eyes narrowed.

"And why is that? Have you cleared my calendar from here until kingdom come so that I can lunch at the most exclusive hotel dining rooms to impress Mom's friends?"

"At the end of this week, you will no longer work here." Her jaw fell.

"I'm sorry, are you firing me?!" She exclaimed.

"Of course not. Aramis, if I had my way you would be running this company. It's very clear that Howard has very little interest, and everyone here knows that the only reason the products are delivered on time is because of you." She narrowed her eyes at him. It was clear he was very uncomfortable with the conversation, and that he very likely wasn't the driving force behind the decision.

"Then I fail to see what the impetus of this is."

"Aramis, your mother has decided that you need to settle down into a real life, and that it's time you take your proper place in society."

"So you want me to flounce around the city, following mom around in pretty dresses like some airheaded little duckling to try to dupe some rich idiot into marrying me?" She asked incredulously.

"Aramis, don't speak about your mother that way."

"While I respect that you and mom are trying to do what you think is best, I'm not going to resign myself to a life of society galas, fashion shows, and mind-numbing conversation with people whom I despise just to spare her reputation. If you had, at any point, considered ME in this decision making, you would remember that I have gone to every party, gala, or event that mother has forced me into begrudgingly, and have always left early. I hate them, I always have, and I always will. I'm your child, dad. I'm smart, I know my own self-worth, and I don't take shit from anyone. The two of you included." His eyes narrowed at her dangerously.

"Watch your tone, young lady."

"It's fun when the things you say come back to bite you in the ass, isn't it Dad?" He sighed in exasperation and put his face in his hand, pausing for a moment. He took a deep breath and locked his eyes on hers.

"Aramis, I'm not going to argue with you. At the end of the week, Henry and Charles will no longer permit you to enter the building. Trudy will be reassigned to another executive, or she will be given a healthy severance if she wishes to leave the company."

"So you are firing me."

"If that is how you wish to view the situation at hand Aramis, then yes. I am firing you."

"And what exactly do you expect me to do next week? Start whoring myself out to the highest bidder society will grace me with?" He looked at her sharply, the same way he would look at her when she was a child.

"You have two choices, Aramis. You may get married. Or you can join the war effort." She laughed cynically, throwing her head back as she gripped the armrests of the chair.

"Ah yes, but you know they won't let me anywhere near the front lines. And with my degree in biochemistry, they'll throw me into the nursing corps. Where you hope I'll meet some dashing officer and ride off into the sunset on a white horse." Her father rolled his eyes and shook his head. He lifted his hand and waved at her dismissively.

"Invent whatever fantasies you'd like, Aramis. Those are your choices." He said with finality, indicating he was finished with the conversation. She sat back in the chair, glaring at him impetuously.

"You know dad, for all the lines you fed me when I was younger about intelligence being the greatest asset and strength a person could possess, and that knowledge was the only currency that truly held any value, you're certainly not practicing what you preach." She stood from her chair and clenched her fists at her sides. "Thank you. For teaching me just enough to recognize when my teacher no longer has anything left to teach me." She spun on her heel and exited his office before he could say another word, slamming the door behind her and fighting the temptation to give Elizabeth the middle finger as she passed.

She marched down the hallway, so blinded by rage she barely paid attention to where she was going. She was running on instinct and on fumes, and she was so lost in her own thoughts she didn't notice Howard until her face ran into his chest. He grabbed her arms and steadied her after their collision, leaning down to put his eyes level with hers.

"Hey. Are you ready?" He asked her, still holding her arms. She flitted her eyes up to his, glaring at him unintentionally.

"Yes." She replied curtly. He furrowed his brow at her and cocked his head in confusion at her sudden animosity, her mood in distinct contrast from when he left her just 30 minutes prior.

"Okay. Your suitcase is downstairs. The car is waiting to take us to LaGuardia." She perked up at the mention of the airport.

"We aren't taking the train?" He smiled at her wickedly.

"I couldn't pass up an opportunity to take her up in the air, now could I?" He said, his voice giddy and playful at the mention of his new plane. She rolled her eyes and scoffed. He handed her purse and sunglasses to her and started walking toward the elevators, aware that something had happened between their meeting and now, but knowing better than to ask what it was. They made their way out of the building in silence, the tension emanating off of Aramis in palpable waves. Her sunglasses covered her eyes, even though while they were inside the building. Her mouth was set in a thin line, and her arms were crossed over her chest. She strode out of the building quickly, as though she couldn't wait to get as far away from it as humanly possible. Howard knew something was truly wrong when she responded to Henry's goodbye with a simple wave as she passed, he narrowed his eyes at her, regarding his sister carefully as she sped through the double doors and out into the sunshine of the afternoon. He gave the bemused Henry a kind smile and followed in her wake. She was already seated in the car when he handed his briefcase to their driver, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared out the window across Fifth Avenue. The car pulled away from the curb, into the light traffic of the afternoon as they set off toward the airport.

"Want to talk about it?" He asked, breaking the silence.

"Talk about what?" She said, her tone expressionless.

"Whatever dad said that pissed you off so badly." He offered.

"No." She said definitively. He raised his eyebrows and drew a cigarette from the slim case in his pocket. He put it to his lips and lit it, the silver lighter catching the sunlight as they crossed the bridge into Queens.

"Okay." He replied. Before he could take a drag, she reached over and plucked the cigarette from between his lips, pressing it to her own without a word. He made a face at her, just as he used to when they were children and she took one of his toys. She ignored him, just as she used to when they were children and she took one of his toys. He shook his head, drawing another cigarette and lighting it for himself.

She spent the plane ride in silence, leaving Howard to focus on playing with his toy. He and the co-pilot were discussing things to do in the D.C. area, but she didn't hear much of their conversation. She sat there quietly, staring out the window, and imagining all the nightmares that lay before her. She thought of all the society events her mother would drag her to. The balls, the galas, the charity events, the lunches, the dinners, the expectations, the insipid debutantes fluttering around and measuring their worth by the size of their husband's bank accounts and the amount of Chanel dresses in their closets. She thought of all the men her mother tried to set her up with in the past, a shudder passing through her at some of the more terrifying memories. The only thing worse than the debutantes were the men they chased, and she would have preferred to die childless and alone than to spend 1 minute in the company of some of the men her mother "approved" of. Most of all, she wished for a way out; some other alternative to the life she had been desperately trying to avoid, but was somehow doomed to lead.

She couldn't understand the expectations placed on her, that she should be stifled by "taking her place in society" and live in an unhappy marriage, sitting at home in a beautifully appointed parlor and sipping tea, simply because she was a woman. Her father admitted that she was the driving force behind the company, she delivered more contracts than any of the other executives, and she was the only person aside from Leon who could keep Howard on a leash short enough to actually get things done. It wasn't fair, and it was tearing her apart. The contingency plan was there, of course. She could always join in the war effort, and she would have been happy to do so, but she wasn't willing to join the nursing corps. With a Bachelors degree in Biochemistry and a Masters degree in Psychology from Barnard, she was beyond overqualified to give soldiers morphine shots, take their blood and change their dressings. If she was going to serve, she wanted to make a difference. She wanted to help men live, not watch them die.

The plane landed, gliding smoothly onto the tarmac at the newly constructed Dulles airstrip just outside the city. There was a black Rolls Royce waiting for them as she walked down the staircase. The driver waved courteously as they approached, smiling at Howard with a certain familiarity that Aramis found curious. She slid into the car and pressed herself against the door, staring ahead of her instead of out the window. She had calmed down significantly, but the vestiges of her anger still remained. Howard handed her a cigarette, which she accepted gracefully. They were quiet as the car pulled away from the airstrip and headed toward the city, the familiar landscape of the capital rolling past them as they drove. She gazed out the window, watching as the scenery changed from rolling fields into the urban metropolis.

"Dad fired me today." She said out of nowhere, breaking the silence. He turned to her dramatically, whipping his head and shoulders around.

"What?!"

"Dad fired me today." She repeated herself, keeping her gaze out the window. There was another pause before Howard starting laughing sarcastically, throwing his head back and slapping his hands on his thighs as he cackled.

"Why?" He asked in disbelief.

"Mom wants me to 'take my place in society'" she said, using air quotes to mock her mother, her voice in a distinctly sarcastic tone. Howard laughed again, this time louder than before.

"Oh yes, that's going to turn out well." She cocked her eyebrow and slunk into her seat slightly.

"Tell that to them." She muttered.

"So what did he say?" Howard asked.

"At the end of this week, I will no longer work for Stark Enterprises. My options are to get married, or join the war effort."

"And you don't want to get married." He said obviously. Aramis turned to him, giving him an 'Are you kidding me?' face

"Have you seen the idiots she's tried to pair me with?"

"Rockefeller isn't so bad." She rolled her eyes and scoffed at him derisively, turning her gaze back out the window.

"Rockefeller is a drunken lecher who can't keep his dick in his pants." Howard laughed.

"I have some friends I could set you up with. Boston based families, old money and the like. Mom would approve." Aramis snorted.

"The only thing worse than marrying a Rockefeller would be spending the rest of my life tied to one of your idiot, venereal disease ridden friends. No thank you." He chortled again.

"You liked Charles when you met him!"

"Charles is married." She said, pointing out the obvious. Howard shrugged. "You're such an asshole." She said disdainfully, and looked back out the window.

"So join the war effort. Lord knows they could use someone with your brains and ambition." She turned back to him.

"Howard, I majored in biochemistry and got my masters degree in psychology from Barnard. And I technically worked in the labs at Columbia. I have zero interest in becoming a nurse."

"So go back to school and become a doctor."

"That wasn't one of the options provided to me." She said. It was quiet for a minute. She felt Howard's hand touch hers.

"I'm sorry, Boo." He said. "We'll figure it out. I promise." She smiled at him sadly, tears threatening to prick at her eyes. "Oh no. Oh no you don't. We have a briefing in 30 minutes. You are NOT going to cry before a briefing." She started giggling as he started swatting playfully at her face. "Stop! Stop it! Stop it, dammit!" She was laughing and trying to swat him away, scrunching her face and drawing her head back.

"Ack! Howard, cut it out! Okay! Okay! I'm fine!" He stopped. Saw that her tears had ceased.

"Good. Let's go sell the shit out of some clandestine weapons and make a ton of money, eh? I'll even take you out to dinner tonight if you promise to do a good job." The car had stopped.

"He said, forgetting who manages the money on business trips." she replied sarcastically. He stopped for a moment as he was getting out of the car, as if he was just remembering that she was the moneybag on this trip. He stepped out and took her arm.

"What am I going to do without you?" He said, looking down at her.

"Honestly, Howard? I have absolutely no idea."

* * *

The meeting was very strange as far as Aramis could tell. She knew that the operations of the Office of Strategic Services were technically classified as "Clandestine" and "Confidential" but she had no idea the lengths to which they would go to keep even the smallest meeting a secret. They entered a cluster of buildings, marked as "Beaux Arts" on Navy Hill, a few blocks away from the White House and The Harry S. Truman building. Upon entry, they were greeted by a strangely dressed secretary, who reminded Aramis of her middle school fine arts teacher, promising them that "Mr. Banks" was just finishing a meeting with the education department, and that he would be right out to meet them. Aramis' brow furrowed, and she looked to Howard with curiosity. His face was blank and calm, as it usually was, so she mirrored his expression and decided to just go with the flow.

She knew they were here to meet someone with whom he had attended MIT. She also knew that his name was not Mr. Banks. She sat quietly for a moment, trying to run through the details of the meeting, before the assistant stood, and told them Mr. Banks was read to see them, which Aramis found strange as she hadn't recalled seeing anyone leave. She stood and followed Howard and the assistant back into a claustrophobic hallway, with low ceilings and very poor light. The assistant opened the door, and ushered them through.

It was like stepping into a different world. The office was appointed in rich mahogany and burgundy leather. Natural light poured in through a brightly illuminated window, whose glass had been treated with acid so that the entire surface was etched, allowing light through but not providing visibility in or out. Two men stood in the office, leaning over a large table.

"Howard! So lovely to see you!" The younger man exclaimed, moving over to shake his hand.

"Stanley!" Howard responded, shaking vigorously. "It's been too long, old boy."

"And you must be the brilliant, Aramis?" She nodded. He took her outstretched hand and shook it. "Stanley Lovell. I was a professor of Howard's at MIT." She nodded, recognizing his name.

"I'm familiar with your work, Dr. Lovell. I studied biochemistry at Barnard, and had the opportunity to sit in on some of the lab work at Columbia. You have a brilliant mind for the subject." She returned his compliment.

"Another scientist." He said, though something about his reaction told Aramis that he already knew quite a few things about her. "Quite the smart family, you Starks." He said jovially. He turned to the side and ushered them further into the room, introducing the other gentleman.

"Howard, this is the man I wanted you to meet. General William Donovan, formerly of the Justice Department, and newly appointed Coordinator of Information." Howard's face lit up.

"Yes, General Donovan. I believe you and my father know one another quite well. If I'm not mistaken, he was a great supporter of your campaign for Governor." Donovan stepped forward and shook Howards hand, his piercing blue eyes taking in the spectacle before him.

"Yes! How is Howard Senior? Too old to make the trip?" He joked. Everyone laughed, especially Aramis. "It's lovely to meet you, Miss Stark." He turned his attention to Aramis.

"Likewise, General. Please, call me Aramis."

"Aramis." He nodded. "I understand you have some things you'd like to show us?"

Howard proceeded with the presentation. They went over the extended time delay he had developed on the fuses for the limpet mines, mentioning that they had increased the magnetic power to increase it's ability to hold to the target. They discussed the grenades Howard devised which, unlike a normal grenade that acted on a time delay with a fuse, would explode when it hit a target, due to the use of pressure sensors inside the surface. There were other explosives, small pistols that could fit in the palm of ones hand for easy concealment, and Howard's tour de force, the silencer.

Lovell and Donovan were stunned. His assistant entered the room.

"You rang, sir?" she said airily. Aramis couldn't remember him picking up a phone, or ringing a bell.

"Yes, be a dear and bring us some coffee, would you?" He requested. She made her exit, and the general ushered them to the couches in front of his desk, with Lovell sitting next to Aramis, Howard across from them, and the general in a plush chair at the head of the table.

"How quickly can we put his into production?" Donovan asked. Howard shrugged and looked to Aramis.

"That would be her area of expertise, sir. I'm just the tinkerer." Aramis spoke up.

"Depending on the size of the order, we could have them produced, packed, and shipped to you in a few weeks. I give you a range, because it would depend entirely on where you needed to have them shipped. But our production facilities have the prototype, and can start pumping these out in a matter of days." It was a stretch of the truth, but she knew Leon would already have the blueprints to the production facilities, so it wasn't too far.

"And the mines?" Lovell asked.

"They're really just a modification of the S-3497 model that we've been shipping to the assorted military branches already. Those could begin production tomorrow morning if need be."

"This is incredible. Truly. I haven't seen stuff of this quality since I first met Stanley." General Donovan remarked. The door opened again, and Donovan's assistant entered with coffee on a fine silver tray, and beautifully crafted mugs. She set it down in front of them and took her leave. He poured the coffee, asking each of them how they took it. Aramis and Howard thanked him graciously, and waited for the General to continue.

"I'll be honest with both of you," He said, bringing the cup to his lips. He took a small sip, and placed it back down on the table. "Initially, I took this meeting out of respect for Stanley. He's something of my Dr. Moriarty, coming up with all kinds of wicked things for us to use in this new venture we're trying to get off the ground. But then I started doing some digging into your backgrounds, and I have to say you're both incredibly impressive individuals." Stanley nodded in agreement. The general continued. "Each of you graduated high school prior to your 16th birthdays, continuing to Ivy League institutions, earning both bachelors and masters degrees in incredibly grueling subjects. You speak multiple languages, fluently. You've traveled extensively. You're incredibly well connected, and yet have managed to stay out of the public eye. You're both accomplished athletes, and are now poised to be at the helm of one of the largest munitions companies in the world, with the largest department of defense contract this country has ever seen. I have to say, it's something of a marvel." Aramis wasn't sure whether to be flattered or frightened that this man, whom she had just met not an hour ago, seemingly knew more about her than she did. "At this meeting, I had expected to forge a relationship with you, Mr. Stark, regarding consulting services for Mr. Lovell as our demand for gadgets has exceeded his capacity to provide them, but I'm now seeing there is a new opportunity here. Miss Stark, if I'm not being too forward, have you considered working in intelligence?" She was taken aback.

"I'm sorry, General Donovan. I'm not entirely sure what you mean." She said softly.

"I'm terribly sorry, let me take a step back. As Stanley said earlier, President Roosevelt has recently given me the position of 'Coordinator of Information.' Until now, all intelligence work for the United States has been done on an almost ad-hoc basis, with each division of the armed forces gathering, managing, and monitoring their own intelligence for their own missions. There is, of course, the exception of the FBI who conducts their own intelligence gathering and missions, but Mr. Hoover is something of a Napoleonic child, they all are really. And like most children, they're simply terrible at sharing. Roosevelt has envisioned a system similar to what the Brits have been using, in which there is a singular body, whose sole responsibility is to gather and distribute intelligence, thus creating a broad network of information in which multiple entities can reap the benefits, and each can receive a clearer and more whole picture. My job is to establish that body, and I'm in desperate need of smart and accomplished people to help me do so." She was trying to keep her face neutral. Howard was practically beaming. "With that in mind, Miss Stark, I'll pose my question to you again. Have you, or would you consider serving your country by working in intelligence?" She was stunned.

"The thought hadn't crossed my mind, sir." Howard recovered for her.

"This is so serendipitous, because Aramis was just telling me on the way here that she was trying to think of some way to help out in the war effort that wouldn't entail being a nurse in a hospital." Howard exclaimed clearly embellishing her words. "Weren't you?" He said pointedly.

"Howard, stop telling the general all my secrets. You're such a loudmouth." The general smiled at them, and looked to Stanley.

"You were right. He is a good liar. And apparently she is too."

* * *

That's all for now. The boys will come along soon. Please let me know what you think. Please and thank you.


	2. The Adventure

**Authors Note:** I know the boys didn't make an appearance last chapter, but we'll finally be able to see a glimpse of them this time around. As always, I'd love to hear from you, so please let me know what you think.

**Authors Note 2:** I don't own Band of Brothers, The Office of Strategic Services, or any of the non-fictional individuals portrayed. I also do not own Howard Stark or Stark Enterprises. I do own Aramis Stark, and all fictional characters otherwise portrayed. That said, I'm not making any money, so ownership hardly matters.

**Authors Note 3:** Just in case anyone is unfamiliar with the pronunciation, the main character's first name should read as the following: Air-Uh-Miss.

Enjoy!

* * *

**All We Cannot See: The Adventure**

She sat on the train as it traveled south, the Virginia countryside passing her by on her route to Prince William Forest Park, the official but never recorded training grounds of the Office of Strategic Services. She felt reinvigorated, like she had a renewed sense of purpose as the fields rolled past her periphery. She glanced at the folder that occupied the seat next to hers. She had read over its contents so many times she could recite them from memory, but she still got excited every time she thought about opening it.

She accepted General Donovan's offer on the spot. Her father was less than pleased, even more so when she reminded him that his only statement was "join the war effort," and that he had not made any stipulations as to what capacity. Her mother protested and cried. Her father threatened to cut her out of the will and disband her trust. She called them both on their bluffs, and they caved, vowing that they would make every phone call they could in order to ensure she was assigned only to the best (a.k.a. safest) assignments possible. They put her on a train 2 weeks later, terrified of what lay ahead, but beaming with pride at her choice.

Of course, they couldn't tell anyone what she was actually doing. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Aramis had accepted a position with a prestigious biochemistry laboratory at the University of Toronto in Canada. They found a graduate student who was happy to have his living expenses paid for in their entirety in exchange for putting her name on all of his papers, which would, of course, be amended as soon as her term of service with the O.S.S. concluded.

She felt liberated, as though she had broken herself free from bonds she hadn't noticed until they were gone. The chains that tied her to the obligations and expectations of her life in New York were dashed away, and she finally had the freedom she had so unknowingly and desperately been craving. The irony of the situation was not lost on her, that her liberated feeling stemmed from the ability to leave civilian life and join a quasi-militaristic agency. She mused that the hierarchy of the latter would be more visible, but likely less constraining than the former, a transparency that she found refreshing and exciting.

The train was fairly empty now. Most of the passengers had disembarked in Washington D.C., Arlington, and Alexandria, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her excitement. She gazed out over the Potomac River, and caught a glimpse of the estate and outlying farms of Mount Vernon as she passed. She heard the conductor call for her stop, and she rose from her seat, collecting her bags as she moved to the train doors at the back of the compartment. One of the conductors helped her with her valise as she stepped onto the platform, and she pressed a $1 bill into his hand with a smile and a thank you from behind the dark aviator sunglasses that adorned her eyes. She had dressed casually for the journey, donning a pair of structured, navy, high waist trousers, a matching navy blue tee with thin white stripes, and a white blazer draped over her shoulders, her mother's pearls wrapped around her neck. Her hair was pulled back into a bun at the base of her neck with a few curls springing free to frame her face. She looked down the platform and saw a driver holding a sign with her name inscribed upon it, and she made her way towards him. His eyes perked up when he saw her and he walked forward to help.

"Ah, Miss Stark. So happy you made it. I trust your journey was pleasant?" He said cheerfully as he approached. She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously; unaware of how he already knew whom she was, as she had never seen him before. He took her bag from her hand, and she saw the sign again out of the corner of her eye. Her name wasn't alone on the placard. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and looked the driver in the eye.

"Yes, it was fine. Thank you, Mr.…?" She responded.

"Culpeper. Sam Culpeper" He finished for her. She cocked an eyebrow.

"Uh huh." She said. He smiled. She didn't think the use of the codename of one of the first American spies was a coincidence.

"Miss Crawley, welcome." Culpeper's attention diverted from her gaze, and he leaned to the left to address someone who was walking up from behind her. Aramis turned and saw the object of his attention.

A young woman was approaching, clutching a suitcase and juggling a rather large purse simultaneously. Her dark brown hair was swept behind her in an elegant chignon, the light catching the deep gold and chocolate hues as she moved. She was clad simply in a pair of black, cropped trousers, a white polo shirt and a cream colored sweater, a thin rope of diamonds sparkling at her throat to match those in her ears and adorning her wrist. She wore very little makeup, save for a light dusting of blush and some mascara to lengthen her already dark eyelashes. Her frame was slim, but athletic, and Aramis could see the muscles of her forearms as she clutched the suitcase in her hand.

"Yes, thank you." She said as he took her suitcase from her hand. She seemed slightly out of breath, and relieved he had taken it from her. She smiled brightly as she noticed the other woman standing with their driver, and she turned toward Aramis and stuck out her hand.

"Diana Crawley." She said confidently. Aramis smiled back politely and took her hand.

"Aramis Stark." She responded, surprised at how firm Diana's handshake was. They released their hold after a few moments, and Diana reached into the large purse slung over her shoulder.

"Glad to know I'm not the only one who got roped into this madness. I was worried I had traveled all the way from Los Angeles only to come and find it was all one big joke!" She exclaimed as she drew a slim cigarette case from her bag. She offered one to Aramis, which she accepted gratefully. Diana offered a lighter, and Mr. Culpeper gestured for them to follow him as he took their bags to the awaiting car.

"Los Angeles? That would be one expensive joke…" Aramis mused as Diana fell in step next to her.

"And how!" She agreed. "Stark… I've heard that name before... Stark Enterprises, right?" Aramis nodded.

"Do you make a habit of knowing companies in the field of defense contracting?" Aramis joked as she stepped into the backseat of the Ford Culpeper was holding open for her. Diana laughed.

"No, no, nothing like that. Stark Enterprises provides the blank rounds they use on the film sets. I've seen the name on the invoice sheets as they come through the studio." She slid into the seat next to Aramis and set her back on the floor as Culpeper closed the car door behind them. They rolled down the windows to allow some air into the vehicle. It was quite warm, and the black car sitting in the sun had a stuffy air.

"Are you an actress?" She asked.

"No, my father is one of the executives with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer." Aramis laughed aloud.

"Ah yes, and how is old Louis?" Diana side eyed her as she blew a column of smoke out the window.

"Still the saltiest old bastard I've ever met." She muttered. They laughed aloud together as the car pulled away from the curb and they set off into the Virginia wilderness, laughing and joking as they continued toward the single greatest adventure of their lives.

* * *

The car turned off the main highway that led them along the Potomac River, merging onto a smaller road that would lead them west and deeper into Southern Virginia. The trees were brilliantly green, the lush foliage blocking the sunlight that tried to pass through the canopy as they continued deeper into the forest. Aramis' brow furrowed as they continued down the road, which seemed to get more remote the further they went. It was newly paved; the dark black asphalt in stark contrast to the earthy tones of the forest and filled the air with a distinct smell of tar. They came around a large bend, and the vehicle slowed. Both Aramis and Diana leaned to the center of the car to look out the windshield, and saw a large gate before them. They passed through quickly after Mr. Culpeper gave the guard a wave and a smile. The women looked at each other with similar faces, conveying confusion and suspicion as the car entered the facility and continued down the road. They stopped in front of a large building, newly erected, which bore the name "Main Hall." Mr. Culpeper opened the door next to Aramis briskly, catching her off-guard, and he offered his hand to help her step from the vehicle. She pulled her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose as she took in her surroundings, her left eyebrow arching as she surveyed the base in front of her. She heard Diana emerge from the car, and the two of them stood there silently as they tried to make sense of the environment.

"Ladies, if you'll kindly step into the Main Hall, Orientation will begin in approximately 20 minutes. I'll have your things brought to your rooms for you." He said with a commanding kindness that was difficult to argue. They thanked him and watched as the car drove down the small road and out of sight. Aramis turned to Diana, her sunglasses still resting low on the bridge of her nose.

"Well that was interesting…" She said sarcastically. Diana shrugged.

"Interesting. Moderately terrifying. Potayto, Potahto?" Aramis laughed aloud and took off her sunglasses.

"Shall we?" She said as their laughter died down.

"Something tells me we don't have much of an option." Aramis started toward the front entrance of the main hall, placing her sunglasses in her purse as she hiked it onto her shoulder, Diana hot on her heels. There were signs in the lobby that directed them to the "Main Assembly," which led them down a brightly lit hallway and toward an auditorium of sorts, which was very reminiscent of a classroom at a University. They were among the first to arrive, with a few other unfamiliar faces occupying some of the seats. Aramis and Diana sat in the second row and watched the others as they filed in one by one, each female, and each with the same anxious and curious look on their face. Aramis estimated there were approximately 30 of them in the hallway as a familiar figure entered her view. General Donovan strode across the front of the room to approach a podium, followed by two men she didn't recognize. The room fell quiet as he took his position, and he looked at the main assembly with a small smile on his face, almost beaming with pride as his gaze passed over them. He cleared his throat and shuffled some of the papers in his hands before he began to speak.

"Good morning, ladies." He began, his voice familiar and welcoming. "Good morning, and welcome to Prince William Forest Park, your new home away from home for the next several months. I've had the opportunity to meet with each of you, and I'm so happy to see you all here together, sitting in front of me patiently while we embark on an incredible journey. I'd like to take a moment to thank you for your bravery, and express my appreciation for your willingness to help your friends, your families, your government, and our allies in this most unsavory endeavor, as we fight once again to ensure there can be peace in the word. The Office of Strategic Services is a brand new landmark in the field of intelligence, and we intend to make a lasting and poignant impression upon those who are privileged enough to know who we are." He said with a wink, inciting the group to chuckle. "President Roosevelt has seen fit to appoint me as the Coordinator of Information for the United States of America. As such, the Office of Strategic Services and all units therein fall under my command. This agency is classified as non-military, though most of its commanders have an array of military experience. There are similarities in the structure of our hierarchies, including titles, but the rules and regulations are not at all the same, and there are vastly different expectations of conduct by which we abide.

"The O.S.S. was formed with the intention of consolidating the procurement of intelligence during war-time, and is charged with engaging in intelligence work on behalf of the United States Government. We will act as a single, unified body to gather and relay information to the various branches of the armed forces to give our boys the best and most complete information possible. We are mirroring the work of our allies The British, by taking their best practices and molding them for our purposes, so that we may produce high functioning units to achieve our goal of defeating the Axis Powers. We have learned several things the hard way, and we intend to leverage these lessons to achieve our goals. After the harrowing circumstances of the Great War, we know war is evolving. War is deeply entrenched in politics, something of which the Fuhrer has incredible command. War is also contingent on preparation, and the side that is better prepared will always have the advantage. We understand that war is not won merely through assaults, occupation, acquisition of territory, and numbers of casualties inflicted on the other side. War is won through tactics, strategy, and a mastery of the human consciousness. At the core of each of these things lies one central common thread: they are predicated on information. This agency will engage in a variety of activities, including acts of sabotage, coordination of strategy and execution of propaganda wars in and outside of enemy territory, spying, and most importantly, the acquisition, training, and maintenance of intelligence assets and networks in enemy territories.

"You ladies, this collection of extraordinary women, have been assigned to the division of Secret Intelligence, Unit Code X, Unit # 66. SI-X-66, the first and only coalition of women across any and all government agencies of the United States. If you attain field agent status, you will be going deep under cover, across enemy lines, to gather and synthesize intelligence from the enemy and from the resistance networks that have been established. Our friends across the pond have taught us that it is easier to reports directly to the units on the ground rather than reporting back to the home office to let it filter down the chain of command. If you are in the field, you will also liaise directly with the different divisions of the military that are nearest to you, providing them with real-time intelligence that may very well be the difference between life and death. If you are not chosen to go into the field, you will work directly with our strategic teams in one of our many home offices by coordinating all the logistics for our field operatives, synthesizing and distributing intelligence as it comes in from the field, as well as coordinating and orchestrating the acts of sabotage and wars of propaganda I mentioned earlier. Regardless of which positions you occupy, you will be part of a revolutionary new concept in American warfare. You will help our allies to reclaim their lost homes, vindicate our losses, and bring the men who are still out there fighting the best possible chance of returning safely.

"At this time, I'd like to introduce David K.E. Bruce, diplomat, attorney, and the Director of the Secret Intelligence Division. He is your commanding officer of sorts, and my right hand." One of the men Aramis didn't recognize stepped forward and nodded to them curtly. His hair was light gray, almost white, and brushed back in the sleek style the gentlemen of society were favoring. His black suit was crisp and well pressed; his white shirt adorned with a gray tie and brushed silver cufflinks. He was everything Aramis remembered of the diplomats her mother entertained at the many galas, and she hoped he would have the same penchant for honesty and brevity for which he was known. He stepped back against the wall, falling in line with the other man she didn't recognize. General Donovan spoke again. "I'd also like to introduce Vaughn Craft, who will be indirect oversight of your unit. Anything and everything you do will flow through him, to David, and hopefully not up to me." He joked again, a sly small crossing his face as the group of women chuckled again. David Bruce and Vaughn Craft seemed unfazed by the humor, continuing to survey the women critically. "Captain Craft comes to us from the Secret Service. Formerly a Special Officer, he was charged with managing the end-to-end security for the First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, which positions him perfectly to work with all of you. Captain Craft…" General Donovan gestured. The man named Vaughn stepped forward, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked out over the group before him.

He was, as Aramis would have expected a secret service agent to be. His face was stoic and unreadable, his eyes calculating and discriminating as caught each of their gazes individually. His form was strong and lithe, his movements sharp and cat-like, bordering on predatory. He was intimidating, and for the first time since her arrival, Aramis' suspicion began to turn to anxiety, the change slipping into her stomach like an ice-cube, chilling her from the core.

"Good morning ladies." He stated, his voice gruff and commanding. "As General Donovan said, my name is Vaughn Craft. I have been given command of this Secret Intelligence unit, and will oversee all of your operations from this point forward. This includes your training, and your activities in the field. I will reiterate, this is NOT a military organization. The rules and hierarchy here are far less strict than that of the Army, Navy, or other divisions of the armed forces. You do not have to salute me, ask for permission to speak, and I would appreciate it if none of you referred to me as 'sir.' You do have to follow the commands I give you promptly, respect the rules and parameters I set, and treat me with the same respect you would show to a boss or superior. From this point forward, all of you are considered to be in training, which is where you will remain until I say otherwise. This training will be grueling, extremely difficult, and many of you will not make it past the first round. I am going to be very hard on you, I will not pull any punches, and this will likely be one of the hardest things you will ever experience. Know that anything I say or do is not personal; it is to prepare you for what lies ahead. You are extraordinary individuals, each with a rich background in academics, athletics, language proficiency, and hard science. You come from some of the most affluent families in the country, and you are undoubtedly accustomed to a very specific and elevated standard of living. You have spent your lives in some of the most beautiful dining rooms, at the most exclusive society events and galas, and mingling with some of the Nation's highest-ranking individuals, all of which prepares you perfectly for many of the tasks General Donovan described earlier. That said, our missions are not parties, or galas, or society events. Our missions are quite the opposite, and you deserve full disclosure before you agree to go into the field. Hit the lights please." Vaughn said, gesturing to a person in the back of the room.

The fluorescent lights went out, casting the room into darkness as a projector flicked on, illuminating the white wall behind the commanders. The first slide clicked into place. It was a black and white photo, the resolution grainy, as if the exposure had been rushed. There was a collective gasp that passed across the room as they took in the subject of the photo. It was an image of a man, though his humanity was barely recognizable. He was tied to a chair, his hands pulled behind his back and tied with a thick rope. His face was disfigured, as though he had endured hours of incessant beatings. There was a pool of darkness around his feet, and Aramis recognized the blood without needing to see the hue. It covered his clothes, sticking to the canvas of his shirt and dripping down his fingertips as his body slumped in the seat.

"Next slide, please." Vaughn's voice called sternly. The images rotated, and another clicked into place. The scene was grim, conveying another victim of brutal torture. The images rotated again and again as the photos became increasingly more gruesome. Each person was horribly disfigured their wounds and causes of death excruciating and horrifying. There were men attached to electrical cables, individuals whose skin had been flayed from their bones while they were still alive. Some of their fingernails had been removed, others were missing entire limbs. Their throats were cut, and there were clearly defined bullet holes in different parts of their bodies.

"When you go are in the field," Vaughn started speaking again, his voice breaking the hushed and terrified silence that gripped the room. He stepped back into the center of the room, the light gray of the projector illuminating his figure as he paced back and forth slowly. "…Make no mistake, you are not going to galas. You are not attending dinners. You are not having polite discussion over champagne and caviar with a handsome officer. You are entering lions' dens." The slide show continued as he spoke, the images made more poignant by his words. "The Germans will not care that you are women. They will be unimpressed by your family's riches. They won't be concerned that you are well connected. They will pay no mind to any threats you try to throw at them. The only thing they care about is that you are a spy. And this…" He turned his body to point at the image imposed on the wall behind him. "…Is what they do to spies." He stopped in the middle of the room, the gray tones of the horrific image bearing down on him. "This will not happen to any of you. It is my personal mission to make damn sure of that. So we will train. And we will train hard.

"You will hate me. You will want to quit. You will have moments where you feel like you can't get up, mornings where you can't get out of bed, and instances where you think that death would be a preferable alternative to facing another second of the hell I will put you through. Your job is to rise above that. If you can't do it here, you can't do it there, and none of you will go anywhere near our side of the front line, let alone behind enemy lines, until I say you're ready. So you'll be ready, or you'll be out, because I'd rather have you out than have you dead." The projector turned off and the lights came back on. He stood there, in the center of the room, his eyes studying each and every one of them as they sat before him. "Now that you know what you're facing, anyone who wants no part of this is free to walk out the door now, no questions asked. You're all volunteers, and there are plenty of jobs with the home office that General Donovan needs to fill with smart capable people such as yourselves. This is an incredibly dangerous game we're about to play, and there is no shame in choosing to work on the back-end." He stopped speaking and waited, giving them the opportunity to excuse themselves. No one moved. The silence was tense, and every woman moved her eyes around the room to see if anyone would take him up on his offer. The room was quiet, and no one made to stand from their seats. Aramis saw a small half-smile play over the left corner of Vaughn's mouth as he watched them stay in their seats. "Good." He said, his voice far more jovial. "Let's get started."

* * *

July 31st, 1942

Dear Howard,

I'm so sorry I didn't write to you sooner. The last few weeks have been literal hell, and I've just now found a spare moment to get some chicken scratch down on a sheet of paper before I fall unconscious for the next few hours before getting up to do it all again. Please excuse me if this letter is incomprehensible.

Where do I begin? Your sarcastic voice is ringing through my thoughts, telling me that the beginning is likely a good place. And you'd be right; except so much has happened I can barely remember where the beginning is. I know I told you about the first day, about meeting the commanders and hearing exactly what we're going to be doing during our tenure of the war. It has been non-stop since then. Vaughn wasn't kidding when he said he would put us through hell. We started out with running. But not just any running, 6 miles of running. At the beginning. Up hills. With obstacle courses in the middle. With Vaughn constantly yelling after us to keep moving. I never thought I would say this, but I'm suddenly very grateful for my grueling conditioning sessions during gymnastics, as it's probably the only reason I've been able to keep up. We're up to 10 miles a day now, usually first thing in the morning, and we're finally starting to be able to keep up with each other.

Speaking of gymnastics, it's been a pretty integral part of our training. Donovan must have told Vaughn about my career as a gymnast, because he's been relying on me a lot to help the other girls with learning and executing some of the exercises. He says they "aren't really his forte," which I find hard to believe as he's one of those really obnoxious people who's just really good at everything. Everyone is very capable, and they've been able to pick up the basics quickly. They're starting to walk on their hands with little difficulty now, though I think that likely has more to do with the strength training we've been doing than it does with my abilities as a coach. We're starting aerial exercises next week, so we'll invariably lose some people to injury as we progress through that.

As you might expect, attrition is high. We lost 6 people after the first day, and another 3 after the first week. We lost 2 last week, but one was because her father came to collect her. Apparently, she neglected to tell him the truth of what she was doing, and he wasn't happy about it. That brings us down to 19 people, and I imagine the numbers will keep dwindling, especially considering how little sleep we're able to get. I think exhaustion has taken out more recruits than the physical exercise. Though, when your vision is so blurred from lack of sleep, sometimes it's hard to tell.

Other than training, everything is going very well here. Though he's tough on us, I get the distinct feeling that Vaughn cares very deeply for our welfare. He's sarcastic and witty, and has an ace in the hole for every snarky comment we can drum up for him. You'd love him, although I shudder to think what kind of trouble the two of you would get into if you ever did meet. Remind me to never introduce the two of you. Surprisingly, I have made some friends here, and you'll be pleased to know that they're women. I know I described Diana to you in my last letter (and no, I will not tell you if she's single, because she's off limits, you philandering playboy), but there are a few others I've managed to connect with through this ridiculous experience. Esther is kind of similar to Nix. She calls people on things in that dry, sarcastic way that we've become accustomed to. She has a big personality, and the beauty to match. Some of the men around base have started calling her "Rita" because she looks kind of like Rita Hayworth. Rose is something of an airhead. She's quite capable, but she provides us with a lot of unintentional comic relief, if you get my meaning. Claire is sweet enough and sharp as a tack, but she's kind of reserved, and she follows Katherine around like a puppy. Katherine is an interesting character. In my last letter, I think I told you that she's been kind of cold towards me, almost unnecessarily. That hasn't stopped. She has an air of haughtiness about her, almost like she thinks she's better than the rest of us. She sucks up to Vaughn like it's going out of style, which he regards passively. She's the typical girl, and you know how much I adore typical girls. According to Diana, she and I are the rivals in the unit. That said, I've been a little busy trying to keep my head above water, so I really have no idea what she's talking about. I can sense that she's competitive with me, but I'm not sure why. I was under the impression we were all on the same side.

Speaking of our childhood friend, have you heard from Lewis? I've been trying to figure out where to respond to the letters he's sent me, but he's an idiot and didn't leave a return address. The only one I have is for the Officer's Candidate School, but I know he's been reassigned to his unit already, and any mail I send to the OCS won't reach him. He said something about paratroopers in his last letter, but made no mention of which division, regiment, or company. If you hear from him, will you please ask for me?

As you can probably see, my handwriting has gotten progressively worse as this letter has continued. I'm barely able to keep my eyes open at this point. I love you dearly and miss you terribly. Please write soon and tell me everything that's happening at Stark Enterprises. I'm sick of you yelling at me via letter for being uncommunicative.

Love,

Aramis.

P.S. Please burn this after reading. Especially the part about my gratitude for my gymnastics conditioning.

* * *

August 25th, 1942

Dear Howard,

I'm so pleased to hear you've finally started taking work more seriously. Dad must be very proud of you (and very relieved he doesn't have to start training someone else to take his job). I'm so happy you promoted Leon and asked Trudy to be his assistant. I was so worried about her, and I really appreciate you taking such good care of her for me. I'd be lost without you. Please tell them I say hello, and give them my love when you see them. Tell them my "biochemistry lab" is difficult, but it's very fulfilling and I'll write as soon as I can.

Things haven't changed much here. They've modified our training away from basics and more toward refinement. We've lost 5 more women since I last wrote you, some of them from exhaustion rather than by choice, but we're all getting used to the lack of sleep now. The bags under my eyes are likely going to become permanent fixtures before this is over. I think it adds a certain _je ne sais quoi_ to my face. Don't tell Mom. She'll send boxes of creams I have neither the time nor the inclination to use. You know how she is. We've started climbing, and have been learning the best techniques for scaling different apparatuses. At first it was just trees in the forests behind the base. We've moved on to ropes, both with and without knots. You should see my hands. I don't think I've had this many calluses since that summer Mom couldn't get us off the monkey bars on the playground. I've seen some of the male operatives on the base scaling some of the buildings. I'm sure that's what we're headed for next.

Now that I'm thinking about it, there has been one interesting change. Just after I sent my last letter, we were introduced to our combat trainers, and they have very interesting backgrounds. Some of them are from Japan (born in the U.S.), some from China, and some from Brazil of all places. Vaughn says they'll be teaching us how to execute close-quarters moves, how to disarm our opponents quickly and quietly, how to subdue the enemy without killing them, and the easiest way to kill them without making much of a mess. Before you panic, Vaughn says that killing is the least ideal way to deal with an enemy in our line of work, and that it should be avoided at all costs. He says it leaves a body behind, and therefore more evidence we were there, which is exactly the opposite of what we're aiming for. We haven't gotten there yet. So far, the training with them has been kind of strange. We do a lot of standing very still, punching things like blocks and boards at random intervals. They say the drills are to enhance our focus and our precision, which is critical groundwork for the movements we'll be learning later on. I'm not going to complain. It's a welcome break from running 15 miles up and down a mountain and across an obstacle course.

You'll be happy to hear that gymnastics training has been going well. The other women are picking things up really quickly, and Vaughn said he's been very impressed with ability to coordinate the training on such short notice. Needless to say, Katherine was none too pleased when she heard that, and she's been glaring daggers at me ever since. She ignores my comments, as though she can't hear me, but pretends to be sugar and sunshine the second Vaughn comes around. It's mind numbingly boring, but I have no choice. Vaughn has high expectations. Personally, I think it was his plan all along and that this whole thing has been a test, but that could just be my paranoia. It feels like everything we do every day is a test of some sort. Vaughn and the other commanders are constantly observing us. I see them whispering, making hand signals to one another, and watching us out of the corners of their eyes. I'm still working on deciphering what the hand signals mean, but I'm getting close to figuring it out. As I said, it's entirely possible I'm just being paranoid. This place has a tendency to do that to you.

We've also started having lectures on the weekend. Since the German invasions of the low-countries and France, they've been trying to work with the British Intelligence services to establish networks of resistance groups there, but they're still in the infancy stages. I think that might be where our group does the most work, but it's hard to say at this point.

Thank you for getting me Nix's address. I'm going to send him a letter as soon as I'm done writing to you. If you can, please tell Mom and Dad I love them and miss them. They have yet to return any of my letters, and I'm not sure if they've even opened those I've sent. I know they're afraid, but please tell them not to be. You shouldn't worry about me either. I know all of what I've described sounds terrible, but I'm having so much fun. I feel like I've finally found something that gives me a true purpose, and has put me with people who are similar to me and understand me. This is the happiest I've been in a very long time, and it's everything I could have hoped for and more.

I love and miss you terribly. Give my best to Leon, Trudy, and the Parents.

Aramis

P.S. Please burn after reading.

P.S.S. Any confirmation on Vaughn's qualifications from Marshall? Donovan said he worked closely with him at VMI. I know you were planning on meeting with our favorite General at some point, but for the life of me, I can't remember when. Just checking in.

* * *

September 2nd, 1942

Dear Nix,

Congratulations on your promotion! I couldn't be more proud of you, Mr. 1st Lieutenant! If they've moved you up to headquarters, does that mean you're no longer with the same company? Or are you still attached to Easy? This whole business of promotions is very confusing, and you're going to have to explain it a little further as I have no time to research it on my own. I'm sorry to hear about your training. It certainly does sound like you and I are in similar situations regarding the brutal physicality. Though I have to say, I certainly can't empathize with your leadership problem. Vaughn is proving himself to be nothing short of a saint.

You would be very proud of me, Nix. I've actually managed to make a real female friend. Before your head explodes, let me explain. Her name is Diana Crawley. Her father is an executive in the film industry in Los Angeles (I guess he works with Louis B. Mayer?), and he's the spitting image of Senior. It's almost as though our lives existed in complete tandem on opposite sides of the country. She attended UCLA and earned her degree before her father gave her the same ultimatum Senior gave me. Her brother was also recruited by the O.S.S., though I think he might be working in another division. He introduced her to the recruiter, and now she's here. You'd obviously love her, and not just because she's beautiful. I would say it's a shame you married Katherine, as Diana is definitely your type. Long, golden brown hair, dark brown eyes, slight tan to her skin, slender, president of her junior league, well mannered, soft spoken. She's basically Mom's dream daughter (minus that whole 'joining the O.S.S.' thing…). Then I remember what a scumbag you are, and any regret I might have had is immediately erased from my mind.

All joking (but was I?) aside, I've created a little family of sorts here. There is another girl I've developed a strong relationship with named Esther. She's from Pennsylvania, and an absolute riot. She kind of reminds me of you; she always calls people on their B.S., she has a snarky comment for everything anyone (read: Vaughn) says, and she's incredibly observant. She's also infinitely better looking than you are, much nicer than you are, and not an intolerable bastard, so it's any wonder why we're such good friends. To make matters worse, she kind of looks like Rita Hayworth. I'll let that sink in for a few minutes before I continue. And to answer your question, yes. She's off limits. So don't bother asking me to introduce you.

I've also become quite close with Vaughn. After helping him to develop the gymnastics training and then co-leading it with him, I've been able to see a side of him that's less operative and commander and more peer to peer. Unlike your Sobel, it's clear that he genuinely cares about each of us, and he truly wants us to be safe in the field. I guess he worked with the Secret Service for a while, specifically with the First Lady, and before that with General Marshall at the VMI. I'm still waiting on confirmation on that from Howard, as he promised to ask at his next meeting with the Army in D.C. So you can stop sending me nasty grams about taking care of myself, and being careful, and not trusting my higher-ups, and all that other nonsense. I'm very well looked after.

I will say, getting close with Vaughn has had its drawbacks. Some of the women are complaining that I've been getting preferential treatment from him because we have a good rapport. One woman in particular, Katherine Parr, has even gone so far as to start a rumor that he and I were sleeping together. Which is laughable, as he's married I'm clearly not interested. You'll be unsurprised to know that this Katherine has quickly turned into a sort of rival of mine, though it's very one sided. We can barely find time to sleep and eat, so I'm not entirely sure how she has time to compete with me so ardently. The rumor mill has had the opposite effect of its musings, and Vaughn is pushing me harder than anyone else by making me lead the runs (up to 15 miles now), calling me out for minor infractions, and making me hold conditioning positions longer than anyone else.

According to the grapevine, we might be transferring to another base temporarily to do some kind of specialized training in the next few months. I've heard whispers (read: Vaughn has a big mouth) that it might be parachute related. Who knows? Maybe we'll get to see one another before Christmas! Your family is joining us in wine country, I hope. I need my drinking buddy and as much buffer between my mother and myself as I can get.

Hopefully all is well with you, and Captain Screwball isn't torturing you too much (just enough).

Love,

Aramis

P.S. Please burn after reading.

* * *

September 15th, 1942

Dear Howard,

Thank you for sending me the care package from Trudy and Leon. I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with a custom set of test-tubes, and I'm positive the cookies will be taken away before I have a chance to smell them, but I'm sure I'll find some way to make them useful. I'll write a thank you letter as soon as I'm able. That was very sweet of them. Hopefully all is well at the office, and things aren't too hectic with the war ramping up and all.

Thank you for the information on Vaughn. It's good to hear that General Marshall thinks so highly of him. I didn't need a confidence boost, but I'm happy to hear that my opinion of him is well founded. I'm sure Nixon already told you as you gossip like old maids, but there's been quite the rumor mill plugging away regarding he and I. It's even prompted an investigation from my higher ups, which was really exciting (read: terrifying and infuriating) to go through. Apparently, the "rivalry" with Katherine has escalated to the point where she now finds it appropriate to spread rumors about me, implying that I'm getting preferential treatment from Vaughn because he and I are sleeping together. Were it true, both he and I would have been kicked out of the agency, and we had to meet in General Donovan's office once they heard. They took one look at us together and started laughing, as neither of us have any interest in one another beyond the professional and the platonic. He's kind of like another older brother to me, and his wife is quite literally perfect. He takes really good care of all of us, and the thought of anything other than working with him makes my skin crawl. Now that it's been settled, we're trying to focus on continuing our training, which has been incredibly difficult, and only getting harder.

The close quarters training is picking up now. We've moved on from our focus and precision, and into the real deal. I'm so full of bruises, it's amazing I can get out of bed in the morning. Vaughn wasn't kidding when he said he wouldn't pull punches, and our trainers hit hard. You'd barely recognize me, Howard. It's almost incredible.

I'm sorry this letter is so short, I have to run to training. I just barely found some time to get these few updates on a sheet of paper. All is well here. Please write to me with more updates. It makes me feel better to hear about the outside world.

Love you,

Aramis

P.S. Please burn after reading

* * *

October 1st, 1942

Dear Howard,

I knew you wouldn't stay out of the grind for long. It was only a matter of time before some agency recruited you and swallowed you up. I have to say, I'm a little saddened to know you won't be inventing our weapons anymore, and I'm sure Stanley Lovell will miss you dearly. Tell me more about this clandestine project you're getting involved with! You said it was a science project, but I'm intrigued to know what kind. What kind of experiments are they running? I miss the lab and all the equipment, and you were the closest thing I had to a release. Tell me what you can, and I'll try to infer the rest.

Things haven't changed much here. All we do is train. I can throw knives now. So that's exciting. You'll want to reconsider banning me from your hunting trips, too. I'm probably a better shot than you are now. We've lost a considerable amount of recruits since I last wrote to you. We're down to 12 now. Our attrition rate has been almost two thirds of the original group, which has to be a new record of some kind. All my friends (and apparent nemeses) are holding strong, though. Diana, Esther and I are hanging on, getting each other through it one day at a time.

I'm going to close there, as an attempt at holding other information about myself hostage until you agree to tell me everything about your new project.

Spill the beans, Kid.

Love,

Aramis,

P.S. Please burn after reading.

* * *

October 12th, 1942

Dear Nix,

Can you believe Howard is holding out on me? He's not telling me anything about his new project. What has he told you? I know you know. He could never keep secrets from you. Tell me everything, or I swear to god I'll buy every bottle of Vat 69 currently in the United States and dump it down the drain.

I never thought I would say this, but I actually feel kind of bad for you. If you're telling the truth, I'm a little surprised Sobel is still in command of the unit. Can he really just kick people out like that? I thought once you signed up for the Army, you were there for good. Once again, Nix, you've got a little more explaining to do. You forget, my unit is non-military, I don't have to follow the same ridiculous rules you do.

Speaking of, things have gotten very interesting around here lately. I'm sure I sound like a broken record, but our training is ramping up even further, and they've just now started to mention the particulars involved in the "final test" that will determine whether or not we are granted field agent status. I had a chance to speak with some of the other agents on base, and they said the final test is also used to determine positions within the team, and will establish our hierarchy. Naturally, this has sent everyone into overdrive, and has sent Katherine into quite the tizzy about how to "beat me" at the test. I'm just hoping I pass and don't get stuck in London the whole time.

We're told we might FINALLY have some time to socialize in a few weeks. Vaughn said he would let us go into D.C. for one of the Halloween Masquerades, but we have to wait on the General's approval before it's confirmed. I'm not sure I'll go, you know how much I hate those things. Plus, I'm kind of sick of masks and costumes. It's all we seem to wear these days, and I can't tell you how nice it is to just sit around in comfortable clothes and do nothing sometimes.

I'm sorry this letter is rather boring. I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, and I'm not entirely sure any of what I've said makes sense.

I love you, big brother, and I miss you dearly. I doubt I'll make it home for Thanksgiving, so don't count on seeing me if you do, but I hope you and Kathy are able to come to wine country for the holidays. My mother finally saw fit to send me a letter informing me of the plans, but I'm sure you already knew. Hopefully you're able to make it.

Love,

Aramis

P.S. Please burn after reading

* * *

November 15th, 1942

Dear Howard,

I'm sorry to report that I won't be able to come up to the city for Thanksgiving. Our training has gotten pretty intense, and no one is getting weekend passes at that time. Please don't come down here, as you're terribly embarrassing, and I couldn't stand to have you destroy my carefully crafted reputation. That said, dinner will very likely be far less awkward and uncomfortable without me there, so consider it a blessing and enjoy the quiet holiday. Or go out and party with your bevy of girlfriends. Personally, I think the latter sounds like a better option. Either way, please write and tell me about it. I'm dying to hear more news New York from someone on the inside.

It's more of the same here. AS I said, our training has intensified a great deal since my last letter. We've started drilling with the male recruits in hand-to-hand combat, using the techniques our instructors taught us. Since we're all so small, we've focused a log on how to use our size and speed to our advantage, evading brute strength and recognizing the body's weak points to take down an enemy in a more targeted and precise way. Mom would kill me if she could see me. My body is so black and blue, it's like being a kid with you and Nix all over again. Except they punch harder than either of you ever could, and they don't have to apologize afterward. We're all improving though, and it's getting easier as the days go by.

We've also started doing submission training. Before you panic and start to think I've actually been shipped off to an S&M dungeon, let me explain. You'll recall when I told you Vaughn's logic that subduing an enemy is a better strategy than killing them because there's less evidence to find later? We've been mastering all the techniques that go along with that. You would be impressed with some of the technology Stanley Lovell has been able to come up with, though I imagine you probably had a hand in some of it yourself. Over the last month, we've been training with tranquilizer darts. The idea comes from some of the indigenous tribes of South America and Australia, and they've used acupuncture needles to ensure that they're undetectable by the victims until it's too late. While it's fun to train with them, it's not so fun to wake up in a pile on the floor with everyone staring and laughing at you. It's becoming a game involving all the different units, and it's quickly spiraling out of control (but my team is obviously in the lead).

We've been having lessons in anatomy to learn the different pressure points of the body that we can use to knock someone out cold for various lengths of tie depending on the amount of pressure you apply. While I might be full of bruises and tiny holes, I will say that this has been one of the more restful periods of training, simply based on how many times we've knocked each other unconscious. I think this may have been one of the first times I haven't woken up more tired than I was before I went to sleep since I got here.

You'll also be happy to know that we've been using the silencers we presented to General Donovan at our first meeting in D.C. With all the firearms training we've been doing, each of us has developed pretty incredible accuracy, even on the move and with moving targets. However, this is the first time we've been using them in a stealth capacity. I shudder to think how many poor pigs have lost their lives so we can use their carcasses to train. That said, we have been eating a lot of ham and bacon lately, so we can't complain all that much.

According to Vaughn, we will be heading out to one of the other bases next month to start doing parachute training. I guess it's one of the best ways for us to slip into a country undetected, but the process for "getting your jump wings" (as the Army calls it) is pretty brutal. Vaughn's been surprisingly tight lipped about where we're going, but I think Nix might be doing the same training soon. With any luck, we'll be able to do so together, as I miss that little shit more than I care to admit. It's been strange writing letters to the two of you separately, and not being able to banter with you both in person. I'm still waiting to hear if the Nixon's will be joining us in wine country for the Holidays. You would know better than I. If you can, would you please use some of your dangerously powerful charm to try and persuade them to come? I desperately want to spend time with the two of you together before we all dive off the precipice of war. I know how confident we all claim to be, you in your super secret project (which you still haven't told me about, by the way), Nixon in his parachute regiment, and me in the agency, but I've been watching footage of the Nazi movements in the occupied territories, and sometimes my confidence begins to waver. I don't want to have my last communications with my brothers be via letters.

I'll stop being morbid. Everything and everyone is going to be just fine, and we'll laugh about this in 10 years in a Germany that only speaks English and French.

I love you, brother. Convince the Nixon's to come to Christmas.

Aramis

P.S. Please burn after reading

* * *

November 25th, 1942

Nix,

You're a pathetic excuse for a person for failing to respond to my last letter. Don't you love me anymore? Don't you care about my incessant ramblings and ridiculous complaints? I feel neglected, and I won't stand for it. The next time I see you, you're going to find yourself lying face first on the floor, with a sore neck and no clue as to how you got there. Just Kidding (or am I?)

Vaughn made the mistake of letting us test this new serum Stanley Lovell devised a few days ago with him as a guinea pig. I suspect Howard may have also had something to do with it, though like you, he's been conspicuously silent on the communications front. This serum makes people much more chatty than they normally would have been otherwise, and Diana and I were able to weasel the name of the base we're transferring to in a few days out of him. It's escaping me for the moment, as he has graciously given us the night off and we are passing the time by having a party in our "dorm." I'm sure you can tell by the state of my handwriting that I'm not entirely sober, but I missed you and realized that I hadn't heard from you in over a month, and I wanted to tell you how upset I am about it. I think we're going to be somewhere in the South, but I don't know. I'm sure I'll remember as soon as I drop this letter into the outgoing mail. I'll figure it out later.

Write me a letter, you miserable old bastard. Surely you haven't lost so many brain cells at the hands of Captain Screwball that you've forgotten how to write.

Diana says hi.

She also wants to know why you haven't written back to me.

She also says you're mean.

She said something else, but I'm not sure what it was. She too is quite drunk. I'm not sure why I'm still writing to you. I think I've lost my mind.

Tell your family to come to wine country. I can't drink the Mondavi Estate dry by myself.

You're a butthead,

Aramis

P.S. Burn after reading

* * *

Nix smiled as he folded the letter back into thirds. His eyes narrowed as he saw a few discolorations of the paper, as though it had been exposed to liquid and then dried. He smelled it, inhaling the familiar scent of dried bourbon. He laughed again, drawing the attention of his friend Dick Winters who stood beside him.

"Something funny?" He asked casually in his soft voice. They were standing outside one of the barracks of Fort Benning, enjoying the winter sunshine on the cool, crisp morning.

"Just a letter from a friend." He said, flipping the letter around in his fingers with a wry smile.

"Aramis again?" Dick asked. Nix nodded, and Dick chuckled. "Anything interesting?"

"You know I couldn't tell you if there was." Nix replied slyly. "Though, apparently, she was pretty tanked when she wrote this." He held out the letter, extending his hand toward Dick's face so it was level with his nose. He obliged, taking a cautionary whiff of the crumpled paper and drew back in disgust almost instantly causing Nixon to laugh aloud.

"Good lord, that smells worse than your footlocker!" Dick exclaimed, his tone joking. Nix shoved his friend with his elbow playfully. They righted themselves and leaned back against the barrack once more.

"She keeps pestering me to bring the family to wine country for the holidays this year. I think I can convince Kathy to meet us there. She hates New York at Christmas." Dick nodded silently.

They had arrived at Fort Benning just a few days prior, and they were still getting themselves set up. The men would be starting the grueling process of jump training in a few days, and the air was thick with tension. The situation with Sobel had gotten progressively worse since Toccoa, and the only thing holding the company together was the strength and resolves of the NCO's, banded together by a mutual hatred of their commanding officer. As an intelligence officer, Lewis was generally spared the wrath of Sobel and his ridiculous standards, spending most of his time with Colonel Sink and Major Strayer at Regimental HQ. It didn't, however, stop him from being dragged into running Currahee on an interval that was far more frequent than he would have liked, and the state of the men was a frequent topic of conversation for the two Lieutenants.

"Come on." Winters clapped Nix on the shoulder. "We should assemble the men. General Taylor wants to address the Division at 0930." Nix sighed and pushed himself away from the outer wall of the barrack where he had been leaning.

"Let's go see what the old man has to say this time." He said with feigned excitement. He put a cigarette to his lips, lit it, and followed in Winters' footsteps.

The assorted regiments of the 101st Airborne stood at attention in the main assembly area of Ft. Benning as General Maxwell Taylor, Colonel Robert Sink, and Major Robert Strayer mounted the podium. Sobel stood at the head of his company with an arrogant smirk on his face as he watched the high command. The General gave the "at ease" command, and the man moved with a synchronization that was almost deadly. The general stood in front of the microphone and surveyed his men, a genuinely proud smile on his features as he looked at them.

"Men, today is a very special day. The parachute infantry established here is a brand new concept in warfare, one you all have so bravely volunteered and trained ardently for. We are writing history, and will continue to do so as you move into the pinnacle of elite training to earn your jump wings. But today stands out among other days, as we will make history yet again. Over the next few weeks, as each of you acquires the necessary skills to become a certified army paratrooper, you will be joined by a special contingent of non-infantry individuals. They have requested to take part in this training specifically for its difficulty, and with full recognition of the incredible advantage it provides. These individuals are not in the army, and as such operate outside our rules and our hierarchy. They have, however, assured us that they will make every effort to assimilate to our environment as closely as possible. They are to be treated as honored guests, and you will show them the same respect you would bestow upon any of your superiors, families, or loved ones. Any misconduct on the part of any man in any regiment will be met with immediate expulsion from the division. I expect all of you to be a shining example of your company, your regiment, your division, and the Army as a whole. Understood?" Every man in presence responded immediately, shouting "Yes sir!" with their eyes straight forward, and a strong conviction in their voices. General Taylor smiled again.

"Make us proud, gentlemen. I'm counting on you." He saluted his division and stepped away from the stage, the men snapping to attention and saluting back as he exited. Sobel turned to face his company and called for them to fall out. The men filed out and in the direction of their barracks, their minds buzzing over the sudden announcement, each wondering what the General could have meant. They stood in front of their barrack, standing at attention while Captain Sobel and Sergeant Evans conferred. He turned to Lieutenant Winters and gave the order for the platoons to reassemble in 20 minutes for physical training. They were dismissed, and filed back into their barracks to get ready.

"Non-infantry individuals?" George Luz said when they were finally able to speak. "Not in the army? What do you think that means?" He asked, elbowing Don Malarkey softly as they walked through the door.

"Probably some group of Air-Force rejects who were too stupid to fly their god damn planes." Bill Guarnere joked. The men within earshot chuckled as they switched out of their dress uniforms and into the shorts and T-Shirts of their P.T. gear, taking care to hang the pieces nicely in their small closets before they left.

"Why would they send the Air Force here, Gonorrhea?" Luz asked sarcastically. "They have their own planes. They don't need to use ours."

"Who else would it be?" Bill fired back.

"Tell you what." Luz said as the sly look he always had just before he started to hustle someone crossed his face. "If they are in the Air Force, I'll take over your latrine duty for the next week. If it's not, I get your cigarette rations for the next week." He held out his hand to Bill, offering to seal the deal. Bill looked at him through narrowed eyes, considering the offer, and took his friends hand gruffly, shaking with a little too much gusto.

"You got yourself a deal, Luz." George smiled.

"Alright Gentlemen, let's go! P.T. formation! Move out!" Lipton called out suddenly, bursting through the door of their barrack and herding the men outside.

"Just once, I'd like to have a day to relax…" Perconte said as he jogged out the door. Lipton shook his head and laughed, following the forlorn private to the training grounds while surreptitiously sharing his sentiments.

* * *

The afternoon dragged on as they moved through their drills. Jumping jacks, sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, and all the other calisthenics movements their C.O. loved to watch them do. It was late when they finally got the call to relax, and they slumped to the ground with heaving chests as they relished the break. They heard the distinct rumbling of a vehicle approaching, and they were soon breathing in the dust from the unpaved road. They watched the black bus drive by and park itself in one of the newly constructed barracks a short distance from theirs.

"What do you think that's all about?" Dick asked casually. Nixon shrugged at his left and wiped some of the sweat from his brow.

"Probably those honored guests Taylor was going on about earlier." He said with a sarcastic smile. Dick snickered and continued to stretch his arm muscles, trying to work out the lactic acid.

"There goes your private shower, Joe." Bill joked, throwing a clump of grass at his friend as he overheard his Lieutenants conversation. Toye turned and glared at him, elevating his middle finger, and causing the rest of the men to laugh.

"Moment of truth, Gonno…" Luz called out. The men watched silently as the engine of the bus stopped, and the doors opened. A few moments later a man clad in all black stepped down and took in his surroundings, his eyes covered by black sunglasses.

"Those don't look like Air Force colors…" Don teased. George's face broke into a wicked smile, and he held out his hand to Bill expectantly, indicating that he would need to pay up.

"Zip it, Malark. This don't concern you…" Bill said over his shoulder. He turned his gaze back to the bus, and a collective gasp passed over the company before each of them went completely mute. They sat there in silence, mouths gaping, staring straight ahead in shock. Luz collected himself quickly, shaking off his surprise.

"That's DEFINITELY not the Air Force!"

* * *

She stepped off the bus just behind Vaughn, thankful she had remembered to pack her sunglasses. For December, it was surprisingly light out, and the doors of their transport put them directly in the low-hanging sun. She blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted, and she stood in front of Vaughn expectantly, waiting for the others to emerge so he could give them their orders. She saw Diana out of the corner of her eye, standing at her left as she took in their surroundings. Aramis followed her gaze, resting on a group of men sitting in the grass just behind Vaughn. She pulled her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and cocked an eyebrow.

"More boys…" She mumbled to Diana under her breath.

"They've assured us they'll be on their best behavior." Diana said reassuringly.

"Oh, right…" Esther chimed in sarcastically. "Infantry men behaving themselves. That's an entertaining thought." The three of them giggled as Aramis slid her sunglasses back up onto her face.

"Alright ladies, listen up." Vaughn called for their attention. "We'll be taking barrack #8 just behind us. Get yourselves comfortable. We re-commence training tonight." They groaned, causing him to purse his lips and roll his eyes at them. "Go." He said, motioning them toward the building they would be occupying. They turned to collect their things that had been unloaded by the bus driver while Vaughn spoke.

"Comfortable?" They heard Katherine say haughtily. "Is he kidding?" Esther scoffed and rolled her eyes, moving to pick up her bag. Claire giggled obediently, and the rest of them took their things and made their way toward their makeshift residence.

* * *

They watched them as they emerged from the bus, stunned into silence. Non-Infantry, Non-Army was right. Not only did the armed services not make a habit of recruiting women, the idea of them participating in Parachute Jump training was a total non-starter, as they wouldn't have been allowed anywhere near the front lines, let alone behind those of the enemy. They were clad in the darkest black, the thick wool coats not entirely necessary for the temperate Southern Winter. Their hair was done casually, mostly up in ponytails or in simple buns, their hands covered in slick black leather gloves.

Nixon heard Luz make some exclamation about not being in the Air Force, and he turned his attention to whatever it was that had his men so fully captivated. He too was stunned for a moment, from which he quickly recovered upon seeing a familiar pile of swooping brown curls.

"Wait a second…" Dick heard his friend say. Nixon's brow was furrowed, and he started jogging toward the bus. They had just been addressed by someone and were moving to gather their things as he approached, and he slowed as he neared them.

"Stark?" Nixon said when he was a few feet from them. The brunette whipped around, her ponytail flipping the other side of her face.

"Nix?" She questioned. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head to get a better look. "NIX!" She exclaimed. She ran toward him and jumped into his arms, laughing and giggling melodically as he picked her up, lifting her a few inches.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" He asked, squeezing her tightly. She extricated herself from his arms, landing on the ground silently. He felt her fist connect with his chest, and he stumbled back slightly at the force behind the punch.

"Why haven't you been responding to my letters, you little shit?!" She demanded, feigning menace.

"I've been a little busy, Boo." He said as he reached forward and ruffled her hair.

"GAH!" She exclaimed, diving away from his hand. "NIX!" She swiped at him instinctively, causing him to smile and chuckle at her.

"Woahhh… Someone's gotten strong!" He teased, grabbing at her biceps as she tried to dodge his hands.

"What… what… Stop it! What are you doing?!" She said, scooting away from him and laughing. He continued to grab at her, poking and prodding as he did when they were children.

"You were right, Boo. Your mom IS going to kill you." He teased. She rolled her eyes and groaned.

"And I was living so blissfully in my ignorance. Thank you for reminding me that I have to see her in a few weeks." She said sarcastically. She looked behind her and saw Diana standing there, holding both their bags and waiting for her friend before she went to the barrack. Aramis waved to her friend, inviting her over. "Nix, meet Diana Crawley, one of the few women on planet earth I can stand. Diana Crawley, meet Lewis Nixon, a family friend and the other older brother I never wanted." Diana and Nix laughed at Aramis' introduction and shook hands.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lewis." Diana said politely. He smiled at her coyly.

"The pleasure is all mine, Diana." He said in his smoothest voice.

"Ohhhh no you don't…" Aramis interrupted, glaring daggers at Nixon. "Diana knows you're married, Nix. They all do. They're not interested. Leave my friends alone." She warned. He looked at her innocently; as though he was shocked she would make such an accusation.

"I'm just smiling! I can't help what my face looks like!" He defended. She pursed her lips at him knowingly, daring him to continue defending himself against what they both knew he was doing. He smiled wickedly and winked before reaching up quickly and ruffling her hair again.

"Stop it!" She exclaimed. He and Diana laughed. Nix turned around and waved at Dick, who had been standing by and watching the exchange with bemused interest.

"Aramis, I want you to meet Dick Winters…"

"Dick! Right! I've heard so much about you! I'm so pleased to finally meet you!" She said, shaking his hand. He laughed.

"And I you." He said politely.

"Stark! What are you doing?" an authoritative voice called out from the front of the bus. Vaughn approached, his eyes narrowed and moderately suspicious.

"Vaughn! I want you to meet someone!" She said jovially, waving him over. He cocked an eyebrow and approached, standing next to Aramis with mild disapproval. "Vaughn Craft, meet Lewis Nixon. He and I grew up together. He's the one I told you about, remember? I said we might see him here when we arrived for jump training?" Vaughn looked at Nixon, his stern features softening as she spoke. They shook hands, and Nix could detect the smallest hint of recognition in his eyes.

"Yes, Nixon. Intelligence officer if I'm not mistaken?" Nix nodded affirmatively. "I have a feeling you and I will be getting to know one another quite well over the coming months." Vaughn said amicably.

"Looking forward to it." Nix said, a little confused. "This is Richard Winters, 1st Lieutenant of Easy Company, 506th Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division." Nixon introduced his friend, and they shook hands.

"Pleasure." Vaughn said.

"Likewise." Dick responded. "So what brings you to Fort Benning?" He asked after a short pause.

"Jump training. Apparently parachuting is all the rage in military strategy these days." Vaughn said casually. Nixon and Winters paused, sensing the disconnect in Vaughn's words.

"I thought you weren't military?" Dick asked.

"We aren't." Vaughn said with a wink. "Nevertheless, here we are." The look on their faces was priceless, and Vaughn fought back a chuckle. "They can handle it." He said, gesturing to the women next to him.

"I'm not worried about them." Nix replied, pointing to Aramis and Diana. "I'm worried about them." He said, turning his body to point at the company of men still sitting on the grass behind him. Vaughn smirked again, this time allowing the chuckle to escape from his lips.

"I would be too. Stark, Crawley, get yourselves settled in. We've got a lot going on between now and Monday morning." Aramis rolled her eyes and waved at Dick and Lewis.

"See you around Nix. Nice to meet you, Dick." She said.

"See you, Boo. Nice to meet you, Diana. And you Vaughn." Nix replied. Vaughn shook both their hands again and turned to follow the women toward the barrack, allowing his stern gaze to fall over them once again. They stood there and watched them disappear into barrack #8, confused by the interaction that had just taken place. They turned toward their men who were standing and getting ready to head back to their barracks.

"You want to explain what just happened?" Dick asked. Lewis looked at him out of the corner of his eye and shrugged his shoulders, tracing his thumb and forefinger across his lips to rest at the corner of his mouth.

"Sorry, Dick. My lips are sealed."

* * *

"Woah, woah, woah!" Joe Liebgott exclaimed as they continued to watch the newcomers. "Boys! Looks like Lieutenant Nixon has the keys to the kingdom!" He said, keeping his eyes firmly on the intelligence officer as he embraced and teased one of the women. The rest of them watched carefully.

"I thought he was married?" Joe Toye said.

"They look more like family to me" Came Shifty's soft voice.

"He's an only child, though, isn't he?" Bill added.

"Doesn't matter boys." Lipton called as he stood up, brushing the grass from his shorts. "You know those girls are off limits, no matter what Nixon's relationship with them might be." He gestured to them, indicating they should stand.

"Come on, Lip. You know we were just joking around." Liebgott said. Lipton looked at him sternly.

"You heard General Taylor. Those girls are honored guests, and any misconduct is automatic expulsion. Don't give Sobel any reason to kick you boys out. We've come too far for that. You hear me?" He said in his gentle, but commanding tone. They responded with choruses of "Yeah," and he hoped they would hold to it. "Good. Go get showered and changed. We've got dinner and the Friday night march. You know the drill. Fall out." The men who were still seated rose from the grass, making their way to the barracks to get ready for dinner service. They were abuzz, chatting away like gossipy old women, trying to figure out why 10 women had just gotten off a bus at Fort Benning to complete jump training in order to become certified paratroopers.

* * *

This chapter covers the last of the real "groundwork" and "context" of the story. From this point forward, the real story can start to develop and take shape. Thanks for your patience.

Hope to hear from you!


	3. Ghosted

**Authors Note: **So I lied a little when I said Chapter 2 would be the last of context and groundwork. This will be the last of the context and groundwork, but its substantially more fun than the last 2 chapters, so at least there's that little comfort. As I said last chapter, I really appreciate all your patience. I have a hard time writing out the introductory stages as I have the terrible habit of assuming everyone else knows what I know, and I enjoy writing the more moody bits than the "get to know you" bits, so hopefully it's less torturous for you to read than it is for me to write. If you'll bear with me, the context will come in handy later on.

**Authors Note 2:** I don't own Band of Brothers, Howard Stark, or any references to pre-existing, copyrighted, and/or trademarked entities. I do own my original characters. That said, I'm not making any money on this, so it's not entirely relevant.

Enjoy!

* * *

**All We Cannot See: Ghosted**

They were on another night march. The air had a chill, and the temperate climate of the southern winter was far and away more desirable than the Toccoa summer they had endured. As usual, they were each accompanied on their march with a full pack, their side arms (if they had one, and most of them did), their rifles, and their reserve chutes. None of them were permitted to drink from their canteens, nor were they permitted to use a compass to navigate themselves through the march. They were a ridiculous spectacle, and it was getting old.

This was their third night march this week, and they had arrived at Fort Benning 4 days ago. Their mornings started at 8:00 AM sharp, and they rarely finished their marches before 2:00 AM, sometimes 3:00 if Sobel was feeling particularly malicious. They were accustomed to exhaustion, but this was bordering on absurd. The entire 506th had been excused from Part-A of jump training, as 1st battalion had outrun, out-jumped, and out-done the drill sergeants in charge in every way. While normal logic would suggest their conditioning was in peak form, and they were deserving of a break to focus on Part-B, this decision put Sobel on an even bigger power trip, causing him to flex his proverbial muscle further, and ordering the company to participate in long marches while he slept comfortably in his feather bed at the officer's barrack.

Noticeably missing from this exercise was Captain Nixon, whose assignment as an intelligence officer apparently gave him the ability to skip out on marches and other physical training, much to everyone's chagrin. Don thought about all the things Nixon was probably doing at the moment that didn't include late night walks in the dark, and remembered how familiar he had been with the "honored" guests who had arrived on base that day. The barracks were a flurry after their arrival, and the rumor mill was churning at full speed with ideas as to who they were, and why they had come to Fort Benning. General Taylor said they were there to complete jump training, but no one could figure out why a small contingent of women would need to become qualified parachuters. Each theory was as ridiculous as the next, with some even going so far as to say that the women were in some kind of top secret spy agency that would be dropping into Berlin and blowing the whole city up from the inside. Don wasn't sure what to believe.

He had to admit, there certainly was an air of mystery that surrounded them, though that was likely due to the fact that Colonel Sink had, for all intents and purposes, told them to steer clear of the new additions as "y'all need to be focused on your training, and getting those jump wings. Don't pay these newcomers any more mind than you got to. Ya hear?" So far, it had been easy to abide Sink's wishes. They had disappeared into their barrack just after their arrival, and no one had seen them since. They were conspicuously absent at dinner service, which only made the rumor mill churn harder with wild conspiracy theories, some viewing their absence as affirmation of their harebrained ideas. While it was nice to have some women on the base, Don and most of the other Easy Company men didn't think it was worth losing their place as parachuters to go fraternize with some women whom they would likely never see again.

He continued marching, lost in his thoughts. They were on strict light and noise discipline, so there was no talking, smoking, or fun having of any kind permitted. He stayed in step with George Luz at his right and Chuck Grant at his left, at the front of the column with Lieutenant Winters at the head, leading the men on the abysmal march forward. Their route had changed since they were no longer at Toccoa, leading them on an embarrassing trek through the base, inciting jeers and a few items thrown in their direction from the other companies. They had all learned to stop paying attention, especially when the results of the P.T. exams came through with Easy leading by a landslide. _'Wait until it starts, Gentlemen'_ Don thought to himself as a paper plane just barely missed his face. _'You'll be the ones hurting and we'll be laughing all the way to the finish.'_

Rustling noises and heavy breathing broke the silence that surrounded them. Winters' attention piqued, and he held up a closed fist, indicating that the men should halt their march. They stopped, almost in perfect unison. Dick turned his head, trying to listen to the noises ahead of them. He heard rustling, a man's voice, and several muffled groans. His eyebrows wound themselves together in confusion, and he urged the men forward once more. As they rounded a corner along the tree line, they came into a clearing in the forest, just at the edge of Fort Benning. They saw several figures in the middle of the clearing, and Dick recognized the voice as that of Vaughn Craft, the gentleman he met earlier that day who was escorting the group of women newly arrived on base. He ordered them to halt again, intrigued by what they could have possibly been doing at 11:30 at night, in the dark, in the middle of a clearing in a forest outside the parameters of the base.

Easy was close enough to see each of the women now. They were sitting on the ground, in various positions, their chests heaving from exertion. Vaughn was walking in between them, saying something in another language that they couldn't understand. He turned and stood before them.

"Up." He barked. The women's shoulders slumped, and there was a hushed but collective sigh as they rose from their positions on the ground. Don scanned the figures, his eyes resting on the woman with whom Nix had been so familiar earlier that day. He watched her bend forward and kick herself into a handstand, her body in a perfect, unwavering straight line. The other women followed suit, and they held for a few moments. Don arched an eyebrow as the rest of the company watched the scene before them.

"Roll." Vaughn barked again. The women tipped their heads toward their chests, bent their elbows and tucked their bodies into a roll, their backs resting on the ground for a few seconds before they stood back up, all in perfect unison.

"Up." He commanded again. They returned to their perfect handstands and held for a few moments longer, before Vaughn gave the order to roll. The process repeated several times, moving them across the clearing in a manner that was so silent and precise it was almost terrifying. When they reached the tree line, they turned, and he gave the order for them to go into a handstand again. They held, some women anticipating his call to roll by tucking their heads, causing their bodies to waver slightly. Vaughn clearly saw this, as a small smirk graced the left side of his face. He paused, keeping them in their handstands longer than before.

"Forward." Nixon's friend led the way, placing one hand in front of the other as she walked on her hands across the clearing, her body staying perfectly straight as she navigated the uneven terrain of the grass underneath her. They approached where Vaughn was standing, and he surveyed them as they passed.

"Come on Parr." He said sharply to one of the women whose body was wavering slightly. "You're going to have to do better than that if you want me to even consider letting you into the field." They continued across the clearing, and Aramis reached the other tree line first, followed by the others. She paused and waited for orders, still in her handstand.

"Retreat." His voice called out. They moved again, heading across the clearing again, walking backwards on their hands. Don felt a pair of eyes on him, and he looked to his right to see George Luz's face contorted into a look of shock. Don's face conveyed surprise, and he shrugged to his friend. They both turned back to the group of women, anxious to see what might happen next.

"Halt." Vaughn said. The women stopped in their tracks in the middle of the clearing, still in their handstands. Some of their arms had begun to shake, and it was clear that they wouldn't be able to hold their positions much longer. "Pike." He barked. A soft groan came across the clearing as their hips tipped backward and their legs came down, arching their bodies into a V-Shape, putting more pressure on their shoulders, and sending their core muscles into overdrive to hold their balance. "Hold." He said softly as he walked between them, watching their every move. After a few moments one woman fell out of her position, landing unceremoniously on the grass. She was quickly joined by two more.

"Come on, Ladies." Vaughn said, almost tauntingly. "You're going to have to do better than that to pass my final test." They held for a few more moments before two more women fell to the grass. Vaughn sighed and shook his head. All eyes were on the 4 remaining women, Nix's friend, the friend she had introduced to him and Winters, and two blonde women. Their arms were shaking, and you could hear their breathing from across the clearing, their loud exhales indicating their exhaustion. "Relax." Came Vaughn's voice again. The two blondes fell to the ground, as Nix's friends straightened their bodies, and tipped backwards, placing their feet on the ground and whipping their torsos up to a standing position. Vaughn looked over his left shoulder, as if to acknowledge the company of men standing in the clearing. He turned back to his group and addressed them.

"Alright ladies. We'll finish off the evening with another run as so many of you felt the balance and stability exercises just weren't worth your full attention." There was a collective groan, and several of them lay back down in the grass in frustration, dropping their heads and covering their eyes. "Stark." He barked, startling her slightly. "You'll lead." Her face fell. Don's eyebrow rose again, wondering why one of the only people who had actually finished everything was being punished. She clearly had the same concern.

"What? I finished everything!" She retorted. Vaughn glared at her.

"I know. That's what you get for showing off." He replied. Her eyes narrowed at him. Don saw him wink at her and move the corners of his mouth, as if to apologize. "We'll go for 15 tonight. It's 5 to midnight now. I want you back at Barracks at 5 to 2:00. You have 5 minutes to organize yourselves. That's all." He walked away, shooting her another semi-apologetic look.

Grant leaned in from Don's left. "That's less than 8 minutes a mile." He whispered. Don's eyebrows shot up.

They organized themselves into a column, with Nix's friend "Stark" at the head, her friend right behind her, and the other women falling in line behind them. The Stark girl took care to speak to all of them, giving them a pep talk of sorts before returning to her position at the head, and starting off into a jog. The column moved at an even pace, heading straight for where the men were standing.

They were clad in very interesting attire: all black from head to toe, with form fitting long-sleeved sweaters and pants. The only women Don had ever seen wearing pants were those who worked in the factories in the poorer regions of Oregon, and even then they were much looser than the ones these women wore. It was almost as though they were wearing tights that you couldn't see through, similar to the riding breeches Don's high-school girlfriend used to wear when he visited her at the stable where she worked. Their hair was pulled back into ponytails, bouncing along behind them as they moved.

They jogged around the clearing once, warming up their leg muscles for the long run ahead of them. They turned down the middle, and headed straight toward the Easy Company men once again. As they passed, Nixon's friend "Stark" nodded at Lieutenant Winters, acknowledging him and the other men.

"Evening boys." She said, sending them a mock salute and continuing past them. Winters watched them as they went by. Once they cleared the last of the Easy Company men, they picked up the pace, and ran off into the night. Every man had turned around to watch them go, staying that way until they faded into the darkness. They turned back to their lieutenant, whose gaze was still on the horizon where they had last been seen. He looked to his men and stood up straight.

"I don't ever want to hear any of you complain about P.T. again." They broke silence, and laughed. "Move out." He said, and they continued their march, minds reeling over everything they had just witnessed.

* * *

The next Monday's reveille came earlier than anyone would have liked, signaling a 15 minute window to get roused and dressed before they were expected to be in the mess hall for breakfast. Don groaned and threw his arm over his face when Skip Muck flipped the light switch, bringing the entire barrack into the harsh illumination of the fluorescent lighting.

"Quit your whining." He chided, slapping Don's arm and lightly kicking him in the stomach. They got up, dressed, and headed across the base to the mess facility. When they entered, it was already a flurry of activity with assorted companies yelling and tossing food at one another as they rubbed sleep from their eyes. The smell of scrambled eggs and coffee filled his nose, and Don's stomach began to rumble as he continued in the line. After retrieving his breakfast from the mess staff, he and Muck slid onto the benches next to George Luz and Bill Guarnere, sipping their coffee and trying to wake up before the day's training started. He felt George's elbow connect with his ribs and saw him jut his chin out, pointing across the hall. Don's eyes followed, and saw the group of women sitting at one of the tables, tucked away in the back of the facility. They were chatting animatedly, smiling and laughing at one another.

"Any thoughts as to why they're here?" Bill asked as he raised a forkful of eggs to his mouth. Don shook his head.

"No clue."

"Did you see them the other night? Jesus. It was like watching a circus act, or something." George said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"I'm telling you, man." Hoobler said from behind them. "They are DEFINITELY dropping into Berlin to blow it up. Why else would they be doing chute training?"

"Get outta here." Guarnere replied, waving him off.

"Whatever it is, I'm just glad they're on our side." Skip said, lighting a cigarette. Don nodded, and the men settled into a companionable silence, eating their breakfast and drinking their coffee. Don's eyes stayed on the group of women, still wondering what they might be doing here, and why they would do gymnastics training in the dead of night. He saw their leader enter the mess facility and approach their table. He didn't look happy, and their faces began to mirror his as he spoke with them. Whatever he had said, they didn't appreciate it, and he led them out into the morning sunshine without another word.

Lipton came into the mess hall and herded them to their first station for the day, and Don listened with rapt attention as one of the lieutenants instructed him on how to properly pack and unpack a parachute.

* * *

Vaughn was not happy and he wasn't hiding it well. Not that he was giving it much effort. He had gone to General Taylor that morning to request that his unit also be excused from Part-A of jump training, citing their scores on all the physical tests they had undergone since they had formed, and stating that additional "physical conditioning" wasn't necessary, as it was an integral part of their carefully crafted training regimen that should not have been altered. General Taylor responded by saying that Part-A was a necessary component, and there were no exceptions made. When Vaughn brought up the exception given to the 506th regiment from Part-A due to their physical conditioning, General Taylor became irate, insisting that he was doing General Donovan a personal favor by permitting their presence on his base, and that Vaughn should mind his tongue and remember his rank. Vaughn responded curtly, and left Taylor's office without another word. If this was what the General wanted, Vaughn would oblige, but he was confident that he would regret his decision by the end of the day.

His unit wasn't overly excited about it either. Naturally, Aramis was very vocal in her protestations. She looked up at him from her seated position at their breakfast table.

"They seriously want us to go through their physical training?"

"Yes." He replied curtly.

"Is that a joke?" She asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"No, Stark. Unfortunately this is quite serious." He said, plainly not in the mood for her attitude.

"Come on, Vaughn! Pull it together!" She joked, trying to make him smile. When Vaughn was in a bad mood, everyone had a bad day. And bad days usually meant bruises, sore muscles, or a painful combination of both. He raised his left eyebrow and fixed his eyes on hers.

"Don't push it, Stark." He said sharply. She shut her mouth and looked at him innocently. "Let's go get this horse shit over with." They stood and followed him out of the mess facility, their anxiety building as they walked. None of them had ever seen him this angry before, and they hoped they wouldn't be the ones on the receiving end of his wrath.

They made their way across the dewy grass of Fort Benning. Vaughn was holding the papers that dictated what their movements would be for the week-long P.T. segment of their training, more colloquially known as "Part-A." Each of the participating regiments would be broken up into one of three different segments, to be completed and passed by the end of the first week, including Physical Conditioning, Endurance, and the Obstacle Course. Vaughn snorted as he looked at the schedule, shaking his head with disapproval as he walked. Aramis fell in step next to him.

"What's on the docket, chief?" He showed her. Her eyebrow cocked as her eyes scanned the neatly typed page.

"Wow. This is a joke."

"Don't think this means I'm going to go easy on you for the other aspects of our program. We're starting stealth training soon, and most of you aren't ready yet." She shrugged.

"Well, at least we'll get to relax for part of the day." She said sarcastically. Vaughn didn't respond, and kept walking toward their destination.

The physical conditioning segment of their training was made up of drills that would test their calisthenics and strength. It consisted of incredibly basic exercises, including push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and other functional movements of the major muscle groups. They approached the drill sergeant standing in front of the assembled men. Sergeant James Taylor stood at-ease with his hands behind his back. He gave Vaughn a curious look as he took the paper from his hands, scanning the page and affirming they were in the right place. He looked at the unit, and rolled his eyes.

"Alright. Fall in, ladies." He said disdainfully. "And Captain," he said, stopping Vaughn as the girls walked off. Vaughn turned his attention to the drill sergeant. "Keep them in line. I won't have disturbances in my segment." Vaughn gave him an eyebrow and set his mouth into a thin line.

"Then I suggest you learn to control your men, Sergeant." He said, enunciating the rank to remind him of his place in the hierarchy. They would be training with Abel Company of the 1stBattalion of the 502nd Regiment who had organized themselves into lines of 10 facing the drill sergeant, with about 3 feet of space in between themselves. The women fell in line, with Aramis and Diana on the end nearest to where Vaughn was standing. One of the men turned around and gave Aramis a wink.

"Don't worry sweet cheeks. We'll take it easy on you since it's your first day." He said condescendingly. Aramis narrowed her eyes and raised her eyebrow, pursing her lips contemptuously as she swallowed the retort threatening to burst from her mouth. She heard Vaughn clear his throat and she turned her attention to him. He motioned her over. He stepped in closer to her, and ducked his head.

"New plan." He said quietly, his arms crossed over his chest. "Destroy them. If Taylor won't excuse us, we'll excuse ourselves. This is a farce, and I won't have anyone treating any of you like that." A wicked smile crossed her features.

"Yes sir." She affirmed quietly.

"Pass it on. Keep it quiet." She nodded, and walked to Diana. She whispered Vaughn's words to her friend, and looked down the line indicating that Diana should pass it along. When the last person had been told, Aramis glanced down the column, and received nods from each of them, the same wicked smiles crossing their features as the drill sergeant began his speech. If they were going to be stuck in Part-A, they might as well have some fun with it. And in this group, there was no version of "fun" that was more highly regarded than crushing the fragile egos of men who thought their sex automatically made them superior.

Their morning ended rather abruptly, with Sergeant Taylor wheezing at them to continue on to the endurance segment after he tried to do more handstand push-ups than they could. He landed on his head, which made an unpleasant crunching sound as he connected with the ground, causing the Abel company members who were still able to stand to run to his aid. Vaughn stood over him, a small smile playing over his lips as he thanked him, and walked off. Esther stopped in front of the sergeant as they passed, advised him to put some ice on his head, and suggested he get checked for a concussion. Sergeant Taylor didn't appreciate it as much as she thought he would, but any retort he might have given was cut off by yet another fit of deeply seated coughs as he struggled to breathe.

They arrived at the endurance segment as Dog Company of the 501st Regiment was running ladder sprints. Vaughn approached the drill sergeant, Tyler Moore. After listening to Vaughn for a few moments, he reacted in the same fashion as Sergeant Taylor, rolling his eyes and telling the women to fall in on the exercises, while reminding Vaughn that this wasn't to be taken lightly and Army protocol dictated they wouldn't slow down if one of the women fell behind. The ladder sprints concluded when Sergeant Moore blew his whistle, and the men fell into a group in front of the C.O. as he prepared to give them the instructions for their next exercise. He informed them that the ladder sprints were a warm-up, which received a loud groan from each man of Dog Company, and that their true exercise would be the completion of a six-mile run around the track that circled the base. They would have one hour to complete this task, and every man who took longer than that would have to complete one extra mile for every 5 minutes he was delayed. Vaughn rolled his eyes again.

"I don't think I need to say…" He started speaking to Diana. She held up her hand to silence him.

"We've got this." The run began with Sergeant Taylor setting a nice, loping pace. Aramis and the rest of the unit quickly overtook him, causing him to try to catch-up with them, making the rest of the men run faster as well. At mile 3, Sergeant Taylor fell back, unable to keep up with their pace. At the finish, Vaughn and the ladies of his unit waited for almost 10 minutes before another person crossed. After 15 minutes, Sergeant Taylor came hobbling across the finish line, red-faced and clearly out of breath.

"Apologies Sergeant Moore. We didn't want to break protocol by slowing down after you fell behind." Vaughn said with his arms across his chest. Sergeant Moore waved them off, telling them to report to the Obstacle Course segment after lunch as he massaged his left ankle and tried to recover his breathing. They entered the mess facility early, getting turkey sandwiches and cold water, enjoying the quiet while they could, and reveling in their accomplishments of the morning.

* * *

Lunch passed by in a blur for him. There was so much information swimming around in Don's head, he was having a hard time keeping it all straight, and he felt like he was back in his classes at University of Oregon again. He felt Skip prod his back, urging him forward in the line. Once they retrieved their sandwiches, they sat at a table and wolfed them down, chatting animatedly about everything they had learned earlier that morning, and teasing one another about who wasn't going to make it past the stage. Captain Sobel entered the mess hall, and called for Easy to be outside in 5 minutes to report to the next part of Stage-B training. Don threw away his garbage, finished his water, and followed Skip and Alex Penkala outside. They assembled in lines in front of the obstacle course segment of Part-A training from which they were fortunate enough to be excused. They were some of the first to emerge, and they took their places in the first line, just in front of Lieutenant Winters. Skip nudged Don.

"Hey, Malark. Look!" He said, jutting his chin forward and to the left. Don followed his gaze, and saw the group of women standing near the obstacle course. Their leader was having a conversation with the drill sergeant while the ladies looked on from behind him. Vaughn nodded at the drill sergeant, clearly not pleased with what he had to say, and walked in Easy Company's direction, his unit trailing behind him.

Don heard the approach of Sergeant Evans and Captain Sobel at his left, both of them in deep conversation.

"What do you mean they've been excused from the first two segments of Part-A? It's barely noon." Sobel said in disbelief. Evans shrugged.

"That's just what I was told, sir. Apparently they've beaten the records on both Physical Conditioning and Endurance." Sobel laughed aloud.

"Well," he said scoffing, "they might be able to run, but they'll never beat Easy's record on the obstacle course." He said with pride, which was more directed at his deluded beliefs in his own abilities as a leader than the competence of his company and his officers. Don got a glimpse of the leader of the women's unit. He had obviously heard what Sobel said, and his face conveyed a mix of amusement and vindication, a dangerous smirk playing at the left corner of his mouth. Don saw the leader turn and address his unit, the same iniquitous smiles crossing their features as he spoke, their glances resting on Sobel. They nodded and turned back to the obstacle course. He saw Skip trying to get his attention out of the corner of his eye.

"I have a feeling this is going to be good." Don didn't want to miss it for anything.

* * *

Aramis heard Captain Screwball bragging loudly to one of his sergeants as they walked by. Apparently news of their successes traveled fast across the base, furthering her idea that men were bigger gossips than their female counterparts. She felt the indignation and anger boil up inside of her, starting a fire she knew would be difficult to quell. She instantly looked to Vaughn, anticipating what was coming. When he turned, she saw the familiar smile at the corner of his lips, and she knew he wanted this to be their tour de force of the day. He looked at them hard, his mouth set in a line, clearly just as tired of everyone's condescension as they were.

"Crush that son of a bitch." He said sternly, looking each of them in the eye.

"With pleasure." Katherine responded, her hands on her hips, sending a glare at Sobel. They walked to the front of the obstacle course, standing in front of the final and most obnoxious drill sergeant of the day, Robert Sanders. His lip curled at their approach, and he put his arm out, ushering them to the front of the line.

"Please" he said with faux-courtesy, his tone dripping with scorn. "Ladies, first." Aramis looked him in the eye, and plastered a saccharine smile on her face, feigning innocence.

"How kind of you, Sergeant Sanders." She said, taking her position at the start line. The first whistle blew, indicating they should prepare to enter the course. She focused her vision on the path ahead, taking in the obstacles she would be facing. "When we're finished, remind me to tell General Taylor what a gentleman you've been." His face fell as the whistle sounded, and Aramis launched herself into the course.

* * *

Don had never seen a more incredible sight in his life. This group of women, none of whom could have possibly been taller than 5"4', nor weighed more than 150 pounds was blowing through the obstacle course as though it were a grassy knoll in a park. The high knee run was conquered in 2 perfectly placed front handsprings. The pig's guts crawl pit with a slide tackle in and a penguin slide out. They conquered the 12-foot climbing wall in 2 steps, landing gracefully on the other side in the same tidy tuck and roll maneuvers they had been practicing the night before. Rather than climbing the rope ladder with their arms and legs, the women sprinted toward it and jumped, grabbing either edge of the ladder, and climbing using only their arms, pulling themselves stealthily onto the elevated platform. They slid down the zip line without harnesses, holding themselves up by their arms once again, using only a piece of fabric they pulled off the waistbands of their pants. They dismounted in another graceful roll, landing perfectly on their feet and sprinting to the finish line where Easy Company's 2nd platoon, Captain Sobel, and Vaughn were standing. When the last women finished, Vaughn looked at his watch, and then up to Captain Sobel.

"3 minutes flat. Isn't that a new Fort Benning Record?" Vaughn said, his face daring Sobel to respond. Sobel's chest puffed out under his ridiculous air force jacket and his face began to redden. Don's eyes went wide, and he wondered if Sobel was going to pass out from a lack of oxygen. Sobel turned toward Lieutenant Winters, and sputtered out orders

"Lieutenant, escort the men to their next station." He said, his voice taking on the squeaking tone that usually came with intense irritation. Winters nodded, and addressed the men.

"You heard the C.O's order, men. Fall out." They turned to the left and marched off, Don catching the looks of pride and supremacy on each of the women's faces as they glared at the shamed Captain.

The next morning, they were joined in their lecture by the female unit. According to Lieutenant Nixon, they had gone through the chute packing training the night prior, and were caught up with the lessons the men had received. True to Sink's wishes, the men kept their distance, focusing more on the training in front of them rather than the women next to them.

This behavior continued for the rest of the week, with the women in one corner, and the men filling the space around them, segregating themselves, keeping to themselves, and making all attempts to avoid any and all contact. The weekend passed, and it was as though they disappeared. They weren't present at a single meal, and their barrack was always dark and quiet. This was confirmed by Joe Liebgott, who had been "keeping an eye on that situation" for them, but everyone knew it was mostly for himself.

Monday morning found the group entering Part-C of their jump training, which included practicing their form by jumping into large piles of sawdust, and eventually moving to jumping off of a stationary tower. The women mysteriously reappeared at breakfast, sending the rumor mill into high gear with theories of where they had been and what they had been doing all weekend. Don ignored it, focusing his attention on the instructors, practicing his body positioning, and trying to remember to shut his mouth and to hold his breath before he landed in the pile of sawdust.

True to form, George Luz managed to get himself stuck in the sawdust pile on his last practice jump at the end of the day, and it took Chuck Grant, Bill Guarnere, and Don almost 45 minutes to dig him out. They scrambled back to their barracks, rushing to change from their dust filled clothes before dinner. They managed to arrive 15 minutes late, but were excused by Lieutenant Winters who had heard of George's plight. They lined up and filled their trays with dinner, turning to go find a seat.

The dining room was full, almost to capacity, and every bench was teeming with parachute hopefuls, their legs and behinds hanging off the corner of benches in an attempt to squeeze in and find some room. The foursome roamed from table to table, seeing if there was any place for them to squeeze in, but it was to no avail. They neared the back of the mess hall, and they were still unable to find any space. George stopped in the middle of the aisle, and looked to the left corner where the women's unit had seated themselves for every meal they attended. Their table was sparsely populated as several members of their unit had already excused themselves, leaving only Nixon's friends, and a blonde woman. There was plenty of space on either side for more people. The boys stood there awkwardly, looking around and desperately trying to find another seat. Bill looked at the table of women then glanced behind him at the rest of the mess facility.

"Ah, screw it." He said, and walked up to the women's table. George's eyebrows touched the ceiling, and Don and Chuck fell silent, watching him. Bill approached cautiously.

"Excuse me, ladies." He said, trying to soften his thick Philadelphia accent. "It doesn't look there's any room at any of the other tables, and my friends and I don't want to get demerits for getting back to our barracks after curfew. Would you mind if we sat with you for a few minutes while we finish dinner?" Nixon's friend, the one who had led the run the previous week looked at him with mild curiosity, her face neutral as she turned her attention from her conversation to listen to Bill's request. Her face broke into a smile, and she gestured next to her friends with an open palm.

"By all means! Please, have a seat." Bill turned back to his friends and smiled triumphantly, looping his legs over the bench, and taking a seat next to the blonde. George's eyes got even wider, and it took Don knocking into his shoulder to pull him back into focus. They slid into their seats, with Chuck and Bill sitting on either side of the two brunettes across from the one who had invited them to sit, and Don and George bookending her. She turned to them, a smile playing across her features. She stuck out her hand to Don.

"Aramis Stark." He shook her hand, his eyes meeting hers.

"Don Malarkey."

"Pleasure." She said with a smile. "This is Diana Crawley, and Esther Clayborne." The two women waved as she called out their names. The men introduced themselves, shaking hands and exchanging salutations.

"We were wondering how long it would take you boys to work up the courage to come talk to us." Diana teased. Bill laughed aloud.

"What can we say?" George said, twirling spaghetti onto his fork. "You ladies are a little intimidating." Aramis chuckled.

"And your commanders basically told you to avoid us at all costs." The blonde woman, who had introduced herself as Esther, joked. George looked sheepish as he lifted his fork to his mouth, causing the three women to laugh harder. They continued talking and laughing for the rest of the meal, getting to know each other and getting strange looks from the rest of the men in the mess hall. Aramis checked her watch, still laughing at one of George's impressions of Sobel. Her eyes opened a little wider.

"Jesus, is that the time? We have to get going." She pushed herself off the bench, disentangling her legs gracefully. Diana and Esther followed suit.

"Going where?" Bill asked.

"Training." She said casually.

"Training? We're done for the day." He replied.

"You are." Diana said. "We have a lot more to get done before our day is finished."

"Like what?" Chuck asked, his eyebrows drawing in to a confused frown.

"If we told you, we'd have to kill you." She said with a wink. She turned on her heel and strode off, falling in next to Aramis as they exited the mess hall and into the darkness of the evening.

* * *

They met Vaughn in a clearing in the forest, just off the outskirts of the base. The air was thick with moisture, and Aramis could faintly see her breath as it caught the faint lights coming from the base. They stood in a semi-circle around him, waiting patiently for the training to begin. His arms were crossed, his face carrying the same mildly amused and semi stern look they had grown accustomed to. He nodded curtly as Rose joined them, and motioned for them to sit. They rested on the ground, looking up at him expectantly as he began to speak. "Ladies. Tonight begins our first foray into putting our stealth and espionage training into practice. As you will recall, a large portion of this unit's purpose is conduct and execute missions that will gather intelligence from the enemy. This, however, does not mean that you will always be doing so in plain sight. Therefore, tonight we will begin to do physical run throughs of all the exercises you've trained on previously that will get you in and out of locations and situations with the aim of collecting intelligence without anyone knowing you are there. Any questions?" They shook their heads, listening with rapt attention. He smiled iniquitously. "Good. Tonight should be relatively simple. We will be going over the training schedule for the upcoming weeks, and running through a few review exercises. Tomorrow we'll get things fully underway.

"I'll start by giving you a little more insight into the time we're spending at Fort Benning. Contrary to what some might believe, it is not just to complete parachute training. We could have done that at Prince William quite easily without the added constraints and discomfort." Katherine snorted from the back of the group, but Vaughn ignored it and continued. "WE came here, in large part, to have live practice subjects that are not trained in espionage. In other words, you will be executing several of these maneuvers on the companies of the 101stAirborne division of the United States Army." They started to laugh, almost maniacally, cheering "yes" and high-fiving one another victoriously. Vaughn's smile reappeared. "Let's think of it as a little retribution for some of the shit they've tossed our way since we arrived.

"We'll start with stealth and thievery. You will sneak into the barracks, either while they're training or while they're asleep, and take small items that they may or may not notice. The objective will be to take it one day and replace it the next, in a different place, and without being caught so the subject will think they have misplaced it rather than suspecting it was stolen. Once I'm satisfied with your performance on that task, we will move what's being called 'Clearing the House,' where your objective will be to sneak into one of the barracks while the men inside are asleep. You will disarm each one of them individually, employing the skills you learned in your martial arts and anatomy training, without being caught; gather the necessary intelligence for your assignment and get out, also without being caught. They should wake up the next morning none the wiser, and at most a little sore. We will then move to sneaking off the base entirely, without passes or "permission" to leave, and reconvene at a to-be-determined assembly area. Your final test on stealth and espionage will be a combination of all three of these exercises, where you will be given 1 week to learn everything there is to know about a particular subject. Success or failure will be contingent on the quality of intelligence, and your success in gathering it without your subject becoming aware of your intentions. This is a compilation of all the training you have gone through thus far. It will also be the final segment of training before your final test, the results of which will determine who will and will not be selected to go into the field, as well as your positions in the unit and the assignments for which you are best suited given your strengths. Questions?" They were silent, absorbing the information Vaughn had provided. He watched them and paused for a moment, giving them time to raise questions if they had any. They remained silent. He smiled again. "Good. Let's get started."

* * *

They were bombarded the second the last of them walked out of the mess hall. Questions, accusations, congratulations, jeers, and high-fives came at them from every direction. Hoobler asked if his conspiracy theories were accurate; Muck wondered where they were all weekend; Tab was curious if they were nice; Joe Liebgott wanted to know if they were single. Don held up his hands defensively as they crowded around him on their trek back to their barracks, trying to push them away and regain his personal space.

"Guys, chill out. They're just girls. Jesus…" He said, trying to get away from the barrage of questions. He was met with a series of protestations, begging him to spill whatever information he could.

"Jesus, boys, it's not a big deal. Let it go." George said, following in Don's footsteps.

"Well did you at least find out why they're here?" Liebgott asked, stopping in his tracks and shrugging his shoulders. Bill, Chuck, George, and Don looked at one another quizzically. They shook their heads and responded no. None of them thought to ask. The crowd groaned in frustration, calling them idiots, and heading toward their barracks, anxious to get back before lights out, and curious as to what would happen the next day.

Things warmed up considerably following their first interaction. Their lectures were far more pleasant and less awkward, the tension in the room noticeably diminished. It was like the environment around them expelled a deep breath, leaving all of them more comfortable and more relaxed. Rather than passing hurried gazes at one another out of the corners of their eyes, and leaving a "buffer" of at least 1 chair between themselves, they settled uncomfortably, intermingling more and more as the days progressed, laughing and joking before and after the instructions. They helped dig each other out of the pile of sawdust, and made subtle corrections and suggestions on form and strategy for how to improve themselves. They were informed they would be practicing jumping off the 250-foot tower, parachutes included, the following week, sending a buzz of excitement through all of them as they practiced and improved. They mingled together at all their meals, the other men emboldened by the break in the ice and the other women reassured by their mild behavior. There was no fallout from the commanding officers on either side, though everyone braced for it in the beginning. It was a welcome shift in the monotony that had become the introduction to their military service, and they were going to enjoy it for as long as they could.

It became clear that jump training wasn't treating everyone quite as well as the men of Easy. The training was grueling, and it was certainly taking its toll, but it was impacting some more than others. Don overheard several men complaining about losing different things; some even going so far as to accuse each other of thievery, and it wasn't just the infantry. One morning, as he was heading to breakfast, he heard Captain Sobel complaining loudly to Sergeant Evans.

"It can't have just disappeared, Evans! Pins don't just get up and walk away of their own accord! How is anyone supposed to know I'm a Captain if they can't see the insignia on my collar?" He demanded childishly.

"I know, sir. I checked with the laundry facility and they swear they weren't on any of your shirts when they arrived. I specifically remember seeing it on your wardrobe last night when I collected your items." Sobel stopped in his tracks and looked at the Sergeant menacingly.

"Well check again." The sergeant saluted nervously and ran off toward the laundry facility like a dutiful child, eager to please his father. Don shook his head and continued on his way, curious as to how Sobel and/or Evans could misplace something as important as a rank insignia. He brushed it off as he ran into Aramis and Diana who were standing in line and chatting. They greeted one another and fell into polite conversation, wondering what the day had in store for them. It had become their morning routine. Esther, Aramis, Diana, Chuck, Don, Bill, George, Muck, Penkala and Talbert occupied one of the back tables nearest the exit each day with others joining in occasionally. They were becoming fast friends, enjoying their meals and commiserating over their training together. When they finally had the gall to ask why they were at Fort Benning, the women responded simply.

"To complete jump training, obviously." Esther said her voice flat.

"But you're not infantry." Bill stated obviously. "So why do you need to become parachuters." Esther looked up from her eggs, glancing at Bill before her eyes flitted quickly to Aramis. Diana's gaze fell on her as well, and soon everyone was looking to her for an answer. The left side of her mouth curled into a half smile as she set down her coffee.

"Think of us as a support team." She said confidently. "We're not technically in the military, but we're there to help you boys the things you need when you need them." Esther and Diana nodded, satisfied with the answer. Chuck narrowed his eyes, knowing there was more to what she said, but trying to unwrap the ambiguity.

"So a supply team?" He asked. She smiled again, this time fully and with a hint of victory.

"Something like that." There was something cryptic about her tone; as though there was more there she wasn't telling them.

"So! Who's ready to get strapped into a parachute for the first time?" Diana asked, giving George a light punch in the arm. He gave her a pained look that was a little overdone to be truly playful. The quick change of subject wasn't lost on Don, but he listened as the conversation continued with Talbert's exclamation that he couldn't wait to finally get out of the plane. Don's gaze rested firmly on Aramis, watching her intently as the smirk on her face remained, almost like a child that had just feigned innocence after almost being caught, and getting away with it.

They were unlike most of the women he was used to. They were brusque, and straightforward, never pulling their punches, whether literally or figuratively. They were sharp, and intelligent; always one-step ahead of everyone else. They moved with striking agility, as though each shift in position was carefully calculated and precise. Their wit was almost without match, and even Bill Guarnere was left speechless in some of their verbal sparring matches. They were mysterious, disappearing at random intervals only to reappear when you least expected them, never hearing their approach, and almost always taken off guard. To him, they seemed almost masculine in a way, for he had never seen any women assimilate into a group of men quite as perfectly as they had. Yet, they were incredibly effeminate. They smelled like heaven. Their beauty, though certainly non-traditional, was without question. And they had managed to charm every single man on the base into relative submission. They could have asked for a bridge to the moon, and one way or another, they would have gotten it. They had become like family, just as though they had been there the entire time.

There were those who didn't appreciate their presence on base, and it hadn't gone unnoticed. For some reason, ever since their arrival, Sobel had it out for the group of women. It wasn't wholly surprising. Sobel had it out for everyone, especially people whom he deemed to be a threat. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to mask his disdain for them as training proceeded, and it resulted in an all-around increase in tension. He and their leader, Vaughn Craft, did not see eye to eye on anything. Vaughn did, however, have very pleasant and strong relationships with Lieutenant's Nixon and Winters, increasing the strain within the company even further. Don began to notice the dangerous smirk that crossed Aramis' face whenever Sobel was mentioned or walked by, her eyes following him in an almost predatory fashion.

They had entered the final week of jump training, and there was a sense of nervous excitement in the air. They packed their chutes; double and triple checking it was done properly. The other divisions looked more fatigued than usual, their faces groggy and eyelids heavy as they waited for their breakfast, drinking far more coffee than they used to. They stretched their necks uncomfortably, rubbing at the skin as if they were trying to massage out some tension. This incited several heckles from the other men, teasing them as they waited in line for breakfast each morning.

"What's wrong, boys?" Perconte said, egged on by the laughter of Joe Liebgott and Johnny Martin. "Forgotten how to make the jump already?"

"Man and this is just the tower. I shudder to think what's going to happen to you when you've got to jump out of a real plane." Joe chimed in. The men waved dismissively, muttering under their breath about sleeping in awkward positions.

"Can you believe those guys?" George said as he set his tray down on the table. He looked at Aramis, Diana and Esther as he took a seat next to Bill, sipping his coffee happily as he settled in. Don saw the wicked smile cross Aramis' face as she glanced up at Joe, Frank, and Johnny, still teasing the men in front of them as they waited.

"Amateurs." She said, shaking her head as she took a bite of her eggs. Esther coughed loudly, clapping her hand over her chest as she set her fork down.

"You okay?" George asked his eyes filled with concern.

"Oh, yeah." She said breathlessly, her face red. "Just swallowed down the wrong pipe." Don heard Diana clear her throat loudly as Aramis chewed on the inside of her lip, her eyes focused on the table as she held her coffee. He noticed how tired they looked. Their eyes were starting to show signs of being bloodshot, the thin veins giving off a slight pink tint. There were the slightest hints of dark circles forming, the delicate skin darkening as though it were cast in shadow.

"Excited for today?" Don asked Aramis. She took a sip of her coffee.

"Probably not as excited as you are." She teased gently. Her voice was a little rougher than normal.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Oh yeah. I'm just a little tired. I haven't been sleeping all that much lately."

"How come?" She shrugged.

"Lots to do. Lots to think about." She said casually. He nodded as she turned back to her coffee, warming her hands on the steaming cup as she drank.

They would be jumping out of different planes, and thus completing this last week of training separately. Given that they wouldn't be jumping with the 101st Airborne on whatever missions they were selected for, the parameters for their jump differed slightly, and they were given their own plane to use for the day. They parted with anxious smiles, hugs, and wishes of good luck, promising they would see one another in the same spot for dinner later that night.

They completed the last of their 5 exits Thursday night, with every man in the company coming through successfully. It was like nothing they had ever experienced before. The rush of thrusting yourself out of a moving plane; the somersaults of your stomach as you were in free fall for those few split seconds; the relief as the silk of the parachute caught the air, jerking against your shoulders as it slowed your fall; the incredible view of the landscape as it unfolded before you, the sprawling hills continuing as far as the eye could see; and the amazing feeling as you saw all the other parachutes around you, floating to the ground whimsically as the cheers and laughter of your friends echoed in your ears. Don landed softly, a huge smile over his face as the parachute came down around him. He lay on the ground for a moment and looked up, the cascading silk drifting over his face. He caught a last glimpse of the blue, cloudless sky above him and he laughed aloud victoriously, knowing that he had achieved his goal, and would soon have the infamous jump wings badge pinned proudly to his jacket. He stood and collected his parachute, jogging to meet his platoon at the assembly area.

They were high on adrenaline and an elated sense of accomplishment, and the dinner hall was rowdier that night than he had ever seen it. Their table was conspicuously empty, and they all looked around for any sight of their female friends. They came up empty, looks of confusion and concern across each of their faces as they sat down and ate their dinner. Their absence wasn't a total surprise. The boys had gotten used to it over their time at Fort Benning, but it was strange that they would be absent when the training was very clearly over. They shrugged it off and reveled in their own success, laughing and teasing one another mercilessly.

Don, Chuck, Bill, George and Skip left the dining hall later than everyone else, relishing in the relaxed curfew that came with their success. At the very least, for that weekend, they would be able to enjoy a more relaxed and less stringent schedule. It was very dark, and the base was very quiet as the other regiments were still in Part-C of their jump training. They neared their barrack at the far edge of the base, just along the chain link fence that acted as the perimeter, separating them from the dense forest. As they drew closer, Don's ears perked up, and he could hear the distinct sound of rustling and hushed breathing. He looked to his friends and held up his hand to silence them, the closed fist indicating they should stop. True to their training, they did so without question, halting dead in their tracks, and ceasing all conversation immediately. They heard the sound again, and Don urged them forward toward the chain link fence, moving to investigate the disturbance.

They crouched behind stacks of tires, and they could see figures moving in the darkness just beyond the perimeter. As their eyes adjusted, Don could make out the familiar forms of Aramis, Vaughn, and the others. Vaughn had his usual posture, his arms crossed over his chest, his face stoic and stern. The women had their hands on their hips, their chests heaving as they tried to recover their breath. Aramis kept her gaze at the ground, as her breathing slowed.

"Time for the balance and stability test, ladies." Vaughn's voice said authoritatively. "Let's go." Don's eyebrows drew together as he watched, wondering what in the world he was talking about. He saw Aramis tip her head from side to side as she rolled her wrists in circles. Her features were intense and focused, zeroing in on Vaughn as he spoke. "Hands up!" Vaughn called. There was a collective groan through the women before they tipped forward, bringing their bodies into perfect, unwavering handstands. They held there, perfectly balanced and unmoving as Vaughn wound his way in between them, examining each of them carefully.

"Center split." He barked. Their legs moved gracefully, extending to the left and right of their bodies as they held their positions. He continued his progression, inspecting each of their forms carefully. They held for a few more moments before he spoke again. "Right hand up." There was a collective exhale as the women shifted their balance, bracing their weight on their left shoulders as their right hand lifted from the ground, coming to rest lightly against their right thighs. "Steady…" He called. He wove his way between them again, inspecting their form critically. "Right hand down." He said. "Hold." They heard a grunt and a soft thud as one of the women lost her balance, tumbling to the ground in a pile of limbs. Vaughn rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Left hand up." He called out. They shifted their balance to the right, elevating their left hands to rest against their thighs as they held themselves up with one hand. Three more women fell in rapid succession, landing against the ground unceremoniously as their balance gave out underneath them.

"Steady." He said, his voice carrying his disappointment as he bent over to help the fallen back to their feet. "Left hand down." He ordered. Another 2 women fell as they tried to right their balance. "Back up." He said. They exhaled again, gracefully lifting their legs and returning to their perfect handstands. Don saw Aramis clearly, her face relaxed and focused as she controlled her breathing. She shifted her weight slightly, lifting one hand and then the other, adjusting her balance. "Front split." He called out. They moved their legs again, this time extending one in front and the other behind them.

"Jesus…" George whispered as they watched from behind the tires.

"What the hell are they doing?!" Chuck asked.

"Steady." Vaughn's voice called out. Their breathing had become more labored from exertion, and their perfect posture was starting to falter. Those who had fallen were sitting on the grass, their faces nervous, and watching the remaining 4 women as they continued through the test. "Back up." He barked. They moved their legs again, pulling themselves back into their handstands. There was another frustrated groan accompanied by a thud, signifying another woman fell out of her position. Vaughn sighed. "Pike." He said sternly. Don watched in amazement as the remaining three dipped their hips back and moved their legs forward, arcing their bodies into a V-shape, straining their shoulders and their core muscles further.

Two remained, their arms shaking as they tried to force their muscles to continue holding them up. The rest sat in the grass around them, watching intently with varying levels of anxiety and concern. They started to speak softly, encouraging one another as quietly as they could.

"Come on, Aramis." Came Diana's voice. She was the last to fall, losing her balance as she tried to dip into the pike position. "You can do it. Just hold tight." She said softly. Aramis exhaled a shaky breath as she tried to keep her features neutral.

"Jesus, they're going to pass out!" Bill exclaimed, barely maintaining his whisper as the men watched in awe.

"Ladies." Vaughn's voice reclaimed their attention. "On my command, you will release yourselves from your current position, taking care to avoid the foot mines that are placed in front of where you are standing. You will sprint to the tree on the other side of the field and retrieve your file from its position on one of the branches. The first to return and hand me the file will pass the test with full marks and have immediate and automatic field status." Aramis exhaled again, trying desperately to maintain control over her breathing. Her shoulders were screaming in protest as Vaughn spoke, and she tried to focus on his words rather than the desperate cries of her muscles. She heard the others around her, muttering quiet words of encouragement. She heard Vaughn speak again. "Steady, and…" She tightened her abdomen and pulled her hips back further, ignoring the protests from her shoulders as she dipped her legs lower and prepared for his command. "Go!" He cried.

She tucked her body in, giving herself the leverage she needed to spring into a series of back handsprings, careful to avoid the places where the foot mines would have been had they actually been there. She stepped out and took off into a sprint, trying to shake out her arms as she ran. She could see Katherine's blonde hair in her periphery, and Aramis knew she was the last person left standing. She continued sprinting, hoping that the other woman wouldn't try to sabotage her openly in front of Vaughn. She neared the tree and started to search the branches. Fortunately, the leaves were few and far between due to the season, and she recognized her initials on the manila folder resting on a branch about 15 feet from the base of the tree. She leaped into the air, grabbing the lowest branch and pulling herself up, using the momentum of her sprint to carry her from branch to branch in the fastest and most efficient way possible. She heard Katherine behind her, scaling the tree in a similar fashion. Aramis clasped her hands around the file and looked down. It wasn't so high, and she had a clear shot at a landing. She tucked the file under her shirt and jumped, absorbing the shock with her legs and tucking her body into a forward roll. She took off in a sprint again, and she heard Katherine's grunt as she landed on the hard ground. She could see them ahead of her, their eyes full of anxiety, desperately wanting to cheer but knowing they needed to keep quiet. She was coming in fast, and she pitched herself forward into a front tuck, landing just behind and to the right of where Vaughn was standing. She whipped the file from under her sweater as Katherine crossed the "finish" line, each of them thrusting the files to him almost simultaneously. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he looked back and forth at them slowly, a wry smile crossing his lips.

"Always showing off, eh Stark?" He chided. She sighed and Katherine smiled smugly as they tried to recover their breathing. She kept her hand outstretched to him, watching intently as he flitted his gaze between them. They stood there in silence for a few moments. He took Katherine's file from her hand. Aramis' shoulders dropped slightly, her face falling as he opened it to examine the contents. Katherine's smug smile broadened while Diana and Esther rolled their eyes. Vaughn crossed his right arm over his chest as he held Katherine's folder in his left hand.

"It would seem congratulations are in order, Parr." He said looking up at her. "That would be, of course, if you hadn't stepped on the foot mines on your return trip, killing yourself and everyone else within a 5 foot radius." Katherine's face fell, dismay, shock and surprise flooding her features all at once. He handed her file back to her, placing it back in her hand briskly and turned to Aramis. "Congratulations, Stark. Welcome to the field." He took the folder from her hands and raised his eyebrows at her, a proud smile overtaking his face. She sighed, her shoulders sagging with relief as she giggled softly. He shook her hand and turned to address the rest of the unit. "That's all for tonight, ladies. Look sharp for tomorrow. They're making the announcement after promotions are assigned." He walked away, leaving the women behind to celebrate. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he strode confidently toward the base, the wry smile returning with just a touch of victory. "Enjoy the show, boys?" He said as he passed. He kept his gaze forward, not breaking his pace as he continued. Their eyes went wide and they stayed completely still, tensing their muscles as they hid behind the stacks of tires, hoping the pile of rubber would shield them.

Once his footfalls were far enough away, and the choruses of congratulations and giggles had quieted, the men relaxed, looking at each other with varying levels of surprise and awe.

"The field?" Bill whispered to his friends. "What the fuck does that mean?!" They shrugged and sat in confusion for a few moments, trying to work out what they had just witnessed.

"Let's get out of here before we get caught." Chuck suggested. They agreed, pushing themselves from the ground and hurrying back to their barrack, their minds still reeling.

* * *

They found themselves standing at attention the next afternoon in their dress regalia, awaiting their commanders for a regimental address. Promotions had been assigned earlier that morning, with some of them sporting new chevrons indicating their status as Sergeant or Corporal to adorn their hard earned jump wings. Colonel Sink approached and stepped up onto the raised platform before them, a smile on his face as he gazed out over his regiment.

"At ease, Paratroopers." He said cheerfully. They moved with artful precision, adjusting their bodies to the at ease position. The Colonel continued to address them. "Now I know there's been a lot of hubbub these last few weeks with the seemingly irregular introduction of a group of women to the base. General Taylor and I want to let you know how damn proud we are the way you've conducted yourselves, and you've made a real quality impression on them in their time here. I'm told that some of you were even able to make friends, which makes the General and I very happy. We up here at Regiment know the rumor mill has been churning out some pretty ridiculous theories as to who they are and why they're here. Well, we figured what with all your success and hard work, you deserved to know who you've been dealing with this last little while. Captain Craft…" Colonel Sink gestured to his left, shifting everyone's attention. Vaughn approached, stepping onto the raised platform, shaking the Colonel's hand as he approached. Aramis, Diana, Esther and the others followed him, as they climbed delicately onto the dais and filed in behind the Colonel, giving Colonel Sink a nod and a smile. They were clad in knee length dresses, covered by heavy wool coats and leather gloves, all in the deepest black. "Gentlemen," Colonel Sink continued, turning his attention back to the 506th. "I'd like to formally introduce you to the United States' first formalized Cross-Military Intelligence group. Captain Craft and this unit of exceptional young women are just one of the many divisions of the Office of Strategic Services, who have been charged by President Roosevelt with overseeing and distributing intelligence across each branch of the armed services. Now we can't say everything they'll be doing, but just know that these young ladies will be working very hard to get the best and most thorough intelligence to us while we're over there fighting the enemy, helping us to take down those German and Japanese bastards, and get all of y'all home safely." It was quiet as Colonel Sink looked out over his regiment, scanning their faces.

"Now I want y'all to relax and enjoy this weekend off. You've earned it."

* * *

The room was full of raucous noise. Laughter, shouting, singing and cheering rang through the air, intermingling with the cigarette smoke and the smell of draft beer. After they had been dismissed from the regimental briefing, the barracks lit up with chatter, claims of "I told you so!" men collecting on bets, and arguments over the semantics of the agreements. Things had calmed down significantly since then, especially since the group of women hadn't been seen since they appeared on the dais earlier that day.

He stood in the back of the room, laughing with Skip, Penkala, and Chuck about another of their harebrained schemes as Joe Toye told Luz to get him another beer. A hush fell over the party, cascading like waves from the entrance to the back of the room. Don turned his attention toward the door, the laughter dying on his lips as he caught sight of them. She stood at the front of the column of women, her eyes dark and confident as she looked around her. Her hands were in the pockets of her pea coat, and her cheeks had a slight flush from the chill of the evening. She cocked an eyebrow and rolled her eyes, striding into the party confidently with Diana and Esther in her wake. She approached the bar, a small smirk playing over the left side of her lips.

"Luz." She said, her melodic voice breaking the silence. "Stop staring at me and give me a beer." She teased. He threw his head back in laughter, bracing his hands against the bar. Don, Joe, and the rest of them joined in, laughing aloud as Luz poured the beer into a pint glass and handed it to her, still chuckling as it changed hands. The party fell back into swing as the rest of the women ordered their drinks, the eyes of each man flitting back toward the bar at frequent intervals to keep their eyes on the new arrivals.

"Supply officer, eh?" Bill Guarnere said from her right, raising his glass to her as he approached. She smiled and touched her beer to his, toasting Don and Chuck as well. She pointed at them.

"That was your speculation. I neither confirmed nor denied it. And technically, you weren't wrong. We are supplying you, just with information. Not food, or clothes, or gasoline." She took a sip.

"But isn't all that stuff supposed to be a big secret? Shouldn't you have secret identities, boxes full of money, and burned off fingerprints and stuff?" Luz said from behind her as he poured the beer. She glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyebrows drawing inward skeptically as he spoke. She giggled and shook her head, rolling her eyes as she took another sip of her beer.

"You've been watching too many movies, Luz." She said casually. He replied with a laugh as Christianson approached the bar, red faced and happy, looking to order another round of beers. She turned back to Bill and Don, the shrewd smile still playing over her face, a playful look in her eye. He watched her as she conversed animatedly with Bill. He had never seen her in anything but her training gear, the black pants, sweater and boots, with her hair in a ponytail and no makeup. She looked softer somehow as the full curls framed her face, falling over her shoulders, the ends tugging at the stiff wool of her coat. Her grey eyes looked brighter, almost opalescent in the light. She threw her head back in laughter at something Bill said, touching her glass to his again as they toasted. He smiled and laughed with them, refocusing his moderately intoxicated brain on their words instead of her face.

* * *

Aramis and Vaughn sat in front of the Officer's Barrack, watching the flurry of activity around them as the men prepared to go away for their much needed, and much deserved vacation. The 10-day furlough would last through the rest of the Christmas holiday, and each of them were looking forward to having some time away from the base to spend with their families before they shipped out to whichever front of the war their supreme commanders decided. He was teasing her about their decision to attend the infantry party instead of joining them at the officers club as they had been invited. Apparently the Lieutenants and Captains were quite wounded that their invitation had been rebuffed. She reminded him how much Vaughn despised Captain Sobel, and it was ultimately his decision that they ended up at the other party, to which she added that she had no complaints. Their conversation was interrupted by a series of hoots, whistles and cheers coming from the main road, and the duo turned their attention to see what all the fuss was about. The cloud of dust from the gravel did nothing to mask the distinct lines and curves of the black Rolls Royce, and Aramis felt her stomach sink.

"No." She whispered, her eyes glued to the road as the car ambled ever closer. "No. No. No. No." She moaned, slapping her palm over her eyes dramatically as she dropped her chin to her chest. A wide, boyish grin spread over Nixon's face, he ran out into the road with a surprised chuckle. The car stopped directly in front of him, coming to a deliberate halt just before the hood ornament touched his jacket. The door opened briskly, revealing a smiling and mischievous Howard Stark.

"Jesus Christ, Nixon. You LIVE here?" He said with feigned disdain as he surveyed the base over the top rim of his sunglasses.

"Sorry it's not the Ritz, Stark. The Army doesn't have your budget." Nixon replied smartly as he stepped around the front of the car.

"Maybe I should start charging them less." Howard joked. Nixon smiled and pulled him into a hug. As they separated, Howard put his hands on his friend's shoulders. "It's good to see you, Lew." He said sincerely. He dropped his hands and looked Nixon up and down, letting out a low whistle. "Look at you. All done up and decorated. Just like you knew what you were doing." Nixon laughed aloud.

"Yeah, well don't go telling them any better. I've got a carefully crafted reputation to uphold." They laughed again, as Howard turned his attention to Aramis.

"Hey Boo." He said with a smug smile as he placed his hands in the pockets of his Black slacks, the sleeves of his black leather jacket bunching around his wrists as he stood there confidently. She was glaring at him menacingly, her eyes narrowed, her arms across her chest. Her mouth was drawn into at thin line, and her eyebrow rose almost instinctively as he called out to her.

"Howard, what are you doing here?" She said her tone dangerous and measured. "I told you I would meet you at the airport!" He smiled mischievously at her, enjoying as she squirmed.

"I couldn't let my poor little sister take a bus to the airport! What kind of big brother would I be?" He said dramatically.

"Apparently, the kind who wantonly and blatantly ignores his 'poor little sister's' wishes."

"Gee, Boo." Howard teased. "It's almost like you're embarrassed of me."

"That's because I am." Howard and Nixon laughed aloud at her honestly as Howard placed his hand over his heart, feigning injury.

"Ohh, Boo! You wound me!" He exclaimed, bending his knees and dropping his weight as though he had lost his strength.

"Come on, Boo." Nixon chimed in. "How could you be embarrassed of this?" He put his arm over Howard's shoulders.

"Because you're the most mortifying people to ever walk the face of this planet. And stop calling me Boo before someone hears you. Its bad enough you're here. I don't need everyone calling me by some ridiculous nickname you've somehow been unable to let go of."

"Aww, come on. It was your favorite word!" Howard defended himself jokingly.

"I was a year old Howard. It was my only word!" They laughed aloud again, clutching at each other's shoulders for balance. Howard regained his composure and walked over to his sister, reaching his arms out toward her.

"I missed you too, Aramis." He said as he pulled her into his arms. She pursed her lips at him and fell into his embrace stiffly; finally wrapping her arms around his torso and hugging him back. He squeezed her tightly, expelling the remaining air from her lungs involuntarily. "Jesus Nix, you weren't kidding. She has gotten strong." He teased. He started to grip and pinch at her arms, testing the freshly formed muscle he was unaccustomed to seeing on her body. She pulled away from him instantly, ducking defensively as she had since she was a child.

"God! Stop it! You two are the worst!" She claimed as she finally got out of his reach, feigning frustration.

"Ready to go?" Howard asked her with a chuckle.

"Let me go grab my bags and tell Vaughn I'm leaving." He said.

"No need. I can hear you just fine." A familiar voice said from behind her. She turned around and saw the familiar sandy blonde hair and sharp brown eyes come around the corner, his stern face softer than it had been these last few weeks. He stuck out his hand. "Vaughn Craft." He said, introducing himself.

"You must be Howard." Her brother looked at him and removed his sunglasses, taking Vaughn's hand and shaking it firmly.

"Vaughn Craft, yes. You're the one who's been taking such great care of my sister." Vaughn scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"I think you mean tolerating her." He said, shooting a side eye and a smirk at Aramis.

"Whoa! When did this become a 'Pile-up-on-Aramis' pow-wow?" She asked defensively. They laughed.

"Thanks for giving her a break. Our mother was in an uproar when she heard that Aramis wouldn't be with the family for Christmas." Vaughn laughed.

"Oh yes, I know. I received a letter." Howard grimaced.

"Sorry about that. She's a very interesting woman." Howard apologized.

"Like someone else I know." Vaughn looked to Aramis.

"Ha." She said sarcastically. "I'm going to get my stuff. Don't cause any trouble while I'm gone." She pointed at Howard. He waved her off dismissively as she walked away.

She ran to the barrack where they had been staying. It was empty save for Diana, as the others left to catch their trains earlier that day. Since the Starks and the Nixon's were in Wine Country, and given the short distance from San Francisco to Los Angeles, Diana would be accompanying Aramis, Lewis, and Howard on their flight.

"You okay?" Diana asked as Aramis blew into the barrack. Aramis shook her head dismissively.

"Yeah. Howard just showed up." Diana laughed, thinking she was joking. She took one look at her friend and saw the grimace on her face.

"Oh. Oh you're not joking. Wait, Howard is here? As in, at Fort Benning?" Aramis squished her face in frustration.

"I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother." She repeated to herself. Diana laughed.

"Let's get out of here before him and Nix get themselves into too much trouble." She said, handing Aramis her back and pushing her lightly out the door. Aramis looked back at Diana as her hands were pressed firmly against her back, pushing her toward the main road playfully. They made it about 5 steps away from the front door before she collided with something hard and covered in canvas. She stumbled back slightly and found herself face to face with Don Malarkey's confused smile.

"Holy shi-crap. Sorry, Aramis. I didn't see you." He said, his hands gripping her upper arms to steady her.

"My fault." She responded. "I wasn't paying attention. This one..." she said gesturing to Diana "…was abusing me." They laughed.

"You boys looking forward to your break?" Diana asked.

"Definitely." Chuck responded. "Just not the ride." Don nodded his head, agreeing with him. Aramis narrowed her eyes at them.

"How long is it?" She asked.

"About a day and a half." Chuck responded.

"2 days, give or take" Don chimed in. Her eyes went wide in shock.

"Where are you going?!"

"San Francisco." Chuck said casually.

"Portland. The continuing on to Astoria." Aramis looked at Diana.

"You should come with us. Howard is flying us in his plane." It was their turn for wide eyes. "It shouldn't take us more than 8 hours to get there. It's not as comfortable as a train, but you'll be able to spend more time with your families." She reasoned.

"We couldn't impose…" Chuck started to protest.

"You wouldn't be. My family is in Sonoma County for the holiday, so it's quite literally on the way. Plus, you'll be saving me from having to deal with Howard and Nix's childish antics the whole time. So really, you'll be doing me a favor." The men looked at one another, as if asking for advice as to what to do. Aramis stared at them, watching the exchange expectantly. "I insist. Get your things. Let's go." She threw her bag over her shoulder and strode off with Diana following in her wake. It took them a split second before they shrugged their shoulders and hurried after her, lurching their bags onto their backs as they tried to catch up with the brisk O.S.S. operative.

She strode up to a man Don and Chuck didn't recognize and dropped her bag next to him as she spoke.

"Hi. We're taking these guys along with us. They live in San Francisco and Astoria, respectively, and they will otherwise spend more than half their furlough in transit. Good talk. Let's go." She said, not allowing him word edgewise. Nixon smiled and shook his head at his friend's antics, nodding at Don and Chuck as they stood their gaping at the car. They saluted at him, but he waved them off.

"You're on furlough, boys." He said calmly. "None of that."

"Howard, meet my friends Sergeant Charles Grant and Private Don Malarkey of Easy Company. Boys, this is my brother Howard." She said, making the formal introductions.

"Wait…" Chuck said as Howard shook Don's hand. "Howard Stark? THE Howard Stark?" Howard smiled his usual mischievous smile as he took Chuck's hand.

"Oh Jesus Christ…" Aramis moaned.

* * *

And that should do it for context and "plot groundwork." Thank you for sticking with me, and I promise it gets MUCH better a little later on ;)

If you have a spare minute, PLEASE let me know what your thoughts are (good or bad).

Thanks!


	4. Where the Streets Have No Name

**Authors Note 1: **We're finally getting into some of the meatier parts of the story, and I hope you'll find this chapter to be as fun as it is intended to be. That said, I've had to alter their timeline slightly to make everything fit, so they are (unfortunately) stuck with Sobel a little longer than what history tells us.

**Authors Note 2:** Thank you to ZimmyZam for the lovely review. As I said in the first chapter, the "crossover" is negligible, and the Starks are really only used to provide context and plausibility for what Aramis does. That said, there will be no star spangled Steve Rogers in the story, and I don't think Howard will make any more appearances from this point forward. You did guess correctly on the romance, though. You'll just have to wait and see how that part shakes out ;)

**Authors Note 3: **I don't own any of this, other than my original fiction characters. I'm not making any money, and I'm really only doing this because it's fun.

That takes care of my due diligence. On to the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

**All We Cannot See**

**Chapter 3: Where the Streets Have No Name**

September 1943

He stood on the deck of the ship with his life vest secured firmly over his shoulders and across his chest, resting his arms against the railing as the vessel lurched sluggishly into motion. The little tugboats sputtered, pulling against the thick ropes attached to the bow, forcing the ship from its comfortable position in New York harbor and toward the open waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The turbines kicked on, and they could hear the steam engines deep in the ship's hulls roar and rumble to life as they began to glide across the oily black waters of the Hudson River.

Every pair of eyes was fixed on the Statue of Liberty as they sailed by. Her torch blazed brilliantly against the fading light of the evening, and Don was overcome with a sense of pride and felt renewed purpose as they passed. The emerald green lady who watched vigilantly over New York Harbor was a reminder of the freedom and promise of a better future, the principals upon which the young nation was founded. He knew in that moment, as he left the United States for the first time in his life, that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. He would serve proudly and fight for the country that had given him and so many others so much, and to once again restore balance and liberty to Europe.

He looked at the men that surrounded him. They wore the same determined and prideful expressions on their faces as Lady Liberty passed into the horizon. It was a bond he hadn't felt before, not with his own family or any of his friends from childhood. They were more than his comrades, they were his brothers, and he knew that if it came to it, any one of them would take a bullet for the other. Most of them had never left their hometowns prior to joining the paratroopers, let alone the country, and the air was full of a nervous excitement as they watched the coastline of the United States disappear into the distance as the sun set behind them in the west.

The journey was long. Two full weeks on an overcrowded troop ship with a few thousand men with nothing to occupy their time and nowhere to go was a dangerous recipe for disaster, and there were more than a few nights that saw Easy Company men interned in the infirmary nursing black eyes or split lips. They were bored, and the excitement of their journey had worn off. More than anything, they wanted to be on dry land again. They cheered with excitement as they saw the rolling hills of Ireland pass in the distance, more out of happiness to know they were close to England than actually caring about Ireland. As an Irishman himself, Don was happy to get a glimpse of his homeland, even if it was only for a few moments.

They were overwhelmed with relief when they finally arrived in Aldbourne. A quaint and happy little village due Northwest of London, it was a welcome change from the stuffy, constricting nature of an army base. They had free time and freedom from each other, which was much needed after the close quarters of their voyage across the Atlantic. Major Strayer and Colonel Sink, however, made it very clear that they were guests in this town, and they were to behave as such. The locals favored a quieter lifestyle, and the men were expected to assimilate accordingly. If they did manage to hold on to a pass to go to the pub, they would do so quietly, and any disturbances of the local population would not be tolerated. They were assured there would be plenty of opportunities to blow off steam in London, and they couldn't wait to go exploring.

* * *

October 1943

They stepped off the train at Charing Cross station and glanced down the busy platform taking in the sights before them. Uniforms of every variety: British, American, Army, Navy, Air Force, and business attire were all intermingled in the rushing waves of people that moved on and off the trains. It was their first visit to London, and their eyes were wide with wonder as they made their way out of the train station and onto the street. The ride from Aldbourne was quick, taking them through the rolling hills of the English countryside and into the bustling streets of the nation's capital.

They were the first of many Easy Company members to arrive, opting to take the early morning train to get some sightseeing done before the inevitable bar crawling started. Chuck and Don looked at each other from their positions on the sidewalk, their impish smiles wide as the crowd made its way around them. They swung their bags over their shoulders and headed into the swarming streets, ready to take whatever the day decided to throw at them. They dropped their things at the small hotel that would be housing them for the next few nights and set out, winding their way around the bustling metropolis that was war-time London. They saw the sights in the British Museum, the rumbling crossroads of Piccadilly Circus, the stoic guards in front of Buckingham palace, and the lush gardens of Hyde Park and Kensington. They roamed through the Tower of London, marveling at the Crown Jewels and cringing at the medieval torture devices, and meandered along the banks of the river Thames, absorbing every minute of their much needed break.

The sun was starting to set as they found themselves among the crowds awing the oversized lions and crystal blue fountains in Trafalgar Square. As the darkness fell, the city came alive. People rushed all around them, laughing and joking with the excitement that could only be found on a Friday night, filling the air with an incredible energy.

"What do you think, Malark?" Don heard Chuck call to him as he stared up at Nelson's Column. "Where to now?"

"Hadn't thought that far ahead, Grant." Don said matter-of-factly. "I'm trying not to have thoughts this weekend." Chuck laughed aloud, remembering their agreement to keep the planning to a minimum and the spontaneity at an all time high. "Dinner? Dinner and drinks? Just Drinks?" He said, turning toward his friend with a wink.

"All of the above." Chuck responded, clapping his hand on his friends shoulder. They turned to walk around the column, heading back toward the street and away from the National Gallery. Don turned toward his friend, joking as they walked.

"We should probably get some food in your stomach before we start drinking, you lightweig…Jesu-Ohhhhh my!" Don exclaimed as he ran into something very solid and warm. He extended his arms outward, clutching the upper arms of the person with whom he collided. He felt a soft but firm grip on his forearms as they steadied themselves. "I'm so…" The words died on his lips as he shifted his gaze up.

"Don?" She exclaimed, her voice echoing her surprise. The familiar and ever-present smirk played itself over her face as she looked at him with astonished amusement, and it took him a moment to collect himself.

"Aramis?" He stammered. "What…?" She laughed aloud, her lips curving into a gregarious smile as she tightened her grip around his forearms. She pulled him toward her, circling her arms around his neck gleefully. He hugged her back, squeezing her tightly as she giggled with excitement. She held onto his shoulders as she pulled away, her face glowing.

He had never seen them in anything but their tactical gear and their winter coats, their hair pulled back tightly and their faces flushed with exertion. She and Diana stood before them, and they were hardly recognizable. The deep navy blue of Aramis' floor length gown complimented her skin tone perfectly, highlighting the slight golden tones in the dimming light. The wispy fabric was draped beautifully, accentuating her waist and falling loosely around her hips as it cascaded to the ground. The straps hung over her shoulders, resting against her strong arms just above her Opera length white gloves. A simple diamond pendant sparkled at her throat, resting deftly just between her clavicles. Her hair was pinned back at the nape of her neck as a few delicate curls framed her face. Her opalescent gray eyes were lined in smoke, intensifying her gaze as she regarded them. The black silk of Diana's gown caught the light as it reflected off the pools of the fountains. The straps rested on her shoulders gently, her décolletage bare and without adornment, accentuating the intricacy of the sweetheart neckline. The bodice hugged her figure, accentuating her sloping curves and fanning out at her calves. Her black opera length gloves covered the delicate skin of her arms, resting gently over the curve of her muscles as she returned Chuck's embrace. Her sleek hair was swept back from her face, the chignon resting elegantly against her neck as the glitter of her earrings peeked out from the low hanging tendrils. Her deep red lips curved into a smile as Chuck released her, her brown eyes regarding the men with equal parts happiness and excitement. Chuck let out a low whistle as they stood across from each other.

"You ladies certainly clean up nicely." He said as he regarded their attire. Aramis scoffed and rolled her eyes. She was happier than he had seen her in a long time, and Don detected the faint smell of champagne intermingled with her perfume as she embraced him.

"You're so charming, Charles. It's any wonder we didn't miss you." Aramis said with a wink "What are you doing here?" She asked, chuckling.

"Chuck and I managed to hold on to our weekend passes, so we decided to come down and see what all the fuss was about." Don responded. Diana gave them a knowing look

"Ah, so you're here to cause some trouble." She said, only half joking.

"It looks like you two are going to be the troublemakers tonight." Chuck responded, gesturing to their outfits. "Where are you headed?" Aramis' face turned sour, and she rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Ugh. This ridiculous gala the British Secret Service decided to throw at the National Gallery." She said, gesturing at the building behind them. "It's essentially a gentleman's 'my horse is bigger than your horse' race, or as I like to call it, the British version of a dic…"

"We're supposed to do a lot of schmoozing with the British Intelligence Officers." Diana interrupted, cutting Aramis's sentence off.

"Whereby schmoozing, you really mean getting hit on." The boys laughed as Diana conceded with a nod.

"It's going to be a terrible bore." Diana said despondently. "I would rather do almost anything than go." Chuck and Don looked at them apologetically as a mischievous smile spread across Aramis' face.

"So let's play hooky. They won't know." She said with a shrug. The boys laughed again.

"Aramis…" Diana chided, pursing her lips at her friend maternally.

"Seriously! Let Katherine the Great have this one." Aramis stated, waving dismissively at the National Gallery. "Besides, you know their food and wine are going to be absolutely terrible." Diana conceded again. They were silent for a moment. Chuck and Don stood there a little awkwardly, not sure where the interaction was headed. Diana stared at the National Gallery building with an anxious and unhappy look on her face, clearly dreading the night ahead of them. Aramis stood there thoughtfully, her eyes narrowed slightly and her lips pursed. A playful smile spread across her face as her eyes settled on Chuck and Don.

"I know." She said cryptically. Without another word, she took Don's hand in hers and walked briskly toward the street, dragging him behind her.

"Hey!" He exclaimed in surprise. They heard Diana's musical laugh echo over the crowd behind them as she took Chuck's hand in hers and followed them. "Aramis, what are you doing?" He asked, chuckling as he caught up with her. She turned and shot him a devious grin as she let go of his hand and stepped to the curb, dangerously close to the edge.

"Hope you boys didn't have plans for the evening." She called to him. "You're escorting us to dinner." She threw her hand in the air as the cars flew by her, hailing one of the black hackney cabs that were so distinctive to London. One screeched to a halt in front of her as Chuck and Diana caught up to them. She opened the door and waved Don in dramatically. "After you, sir." She said in a British accent, dropping the octaves of her voice to mimic a masculine tone. He rolled his eyes at her and grabbed the door handle, shuffling her away from the curb. Chuck and Diana slid in first, taking the seats whose backs faced the driver. Aramis and Don followed, slamming the door shut behind them. "The Savoy, please." Aramis asked politely. The driver confirmed in his thick cockney accent.

"Man, I LOVE London!" Chuck exclaimed as the cab sped off into the dense London traffic, jarring them in their seats as they laughed aloud.

They continued down The Strand, the beautiful architecture of the City of Westminster surrounding them as they laughed and joked jovially. They pulled up to The Savoy, the long driveway illuminated in brilliant shades of yellow and green. The doorman extended his hand to Aramis and Diana as they exited, pulling them from the cab and welcoming them warmly. She spoke with him as Chuck and Don stepped onto the curb, and he gestured politely toward the dining room, his white gloved hand sneaking back into his pocket inconspicuously as she thanked him.

They entered the restaurant, Aramis and Diana giggling and joking as Chuck and Don were dazzled by their surroundings. It was bustling with people, their laughter echoing off the beautifully appointed walls, their faces bathed in warm, golden light. Aramis cleared her throat and shook her head slightly, putting on her serious face as she pulled her shoulders back.

"Wait here." She whispered to them. Her lips spread into a gracious smile as she approached the maitre d'. She spoke with him politely, though they couldn't hear what she was saying. His face fell as he shook his head, and Chuck could make out the distinct words "I'm so sorry" on his lips.

"That doesn't look good." He stated. Diana giggled at his side, smirking confidently.

"Just watch…" she said enigmatically. They stood, their eyes trained on the interaction between their friend and the stuffy man who was the restaurant's vanguard. Aramis leaned in to him, whispering something in his ear. They saw his eyes go wide as his posture straightened instantly. As she pulled away, he nodded vigorously and held up a single finger to her, asking her to wait just one moment. She nodded at him graciously, her lips spreading into a thankful smile. He stepped away from his podium briskly, disappearing into the throngs of people in the dining room. She floated back to her friends, a triumphant grin beaming over her face.

"Just a minute." She said, winking at Diana. Don's eyebrows drew inward, expressing his confusion. He was about to ask what she meant when the Maitre D' returned with a harried smile. He took a deep breath and clasped his hands in front of him.

"Please, Miss Stark, if you'll follow me, I'd be glad to escort you to the dining room." He gestured behind him. She looked to her friends and took Don's arm.

"You're so kind." She remarked.

They were seated at a large table, the beautiful place settings gleaming in the candlelight. The Maitre D' assisted Aramis with her chair as three other servers assisted the others with theirs. A bottle of champagne was open and chilling in an ice bucket next to their table, and the Maitre D' stood at it's head, addressing them warmly.

"I took the liberty of having a bottle of champagne delivered. Please do not hesitate to let me know if you require anything else." He bowed his head and stepped away quickly, striding back to his podium. Don rounded on Aramis the second he left.

"Jesus! What did you say to him?" She shrugged.

"Doesn't matter." She waved dismissively as a server filled her glass with champagne. "Thank you." She said kindly as he moved to Diana's seat. Don narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. He opened his mouth to speak when Diana caught his eye. _'Let it go.'_ She mouthed.

They finished the entire bottle of champagne before any of them realized they hadn't been given any menus, and it wasn't long after that their first course arrived at the table, accompanied by another bottle of champagne. Chuck and Don looked at each other as Aramis raised her glass.

"To friends. We're so happy to see you, elated you could join us, and incredibly grateful you provided us the most serendipitous excuse to bail on our obligations." She said, beaming at them. Chuck and Don passed a glance at each other over their raised glasses, silently agreeing to not ask any more questions, and to enjoy the night. They toasted, drinking deeply from their glasses and sampling the food before them. The menus never came, but the courses and bottles of champagne continued to arrive in perfectly timed succession. They laughed, and dined, and drank, reveling in the impossible perfection of the evening.

They were in stitches, Aramis clutching her stomach as she laughed listening to one of Diana's retellings of their submission training when Aramis was hit with a particularly potent tranquilizer dart, and woke up thinking Vaughn was Howard.

"…And then she said, 'Howard, when life gives you lemons, you've gotta put your gun in the toaster and make sure the turtles are out to pasture.'" Diana said, between laughs, slurring her words to mimic her friend.

"How did I know I'd find you here instead of where you're supposed to be?" A deep, imposing voice boomed from behind Diana. She whipped around and looked up, seeing Vaughn's unimpressed face staring back at her. All laughter ceased as Don and Chuck's eyes went wide. Vaughn settled his gaze on Aramis, cocking an eyebrow expectantly as he stared her down. She froze, her champagne glass raised and tipped toward her mouth as she held his gaze from her seat. Her face broke into a wide, cheesy grin.

"I would say I'm sorry, but we both know how much you hate it when I lie." She said. He threw his head back in laughter. Don and Chuck's eyes fell on one another out of their periphery, not sure how to proceed. Vaughn looked back at them, still smiling, any trace of his former anger gone.

"It's fine. It was absolutely awful. So I left." It was Aramis' turn to raise her eyebrow.

"And came here." She deadpanned.

"I knew it's where I'd find you two troublemakers. Though I'm surprised to see you, Don. And you, Chuck." He stepped toward the table, and they pushed themselves out of their chairs to salute him. Vaughn grinned and shook his head, sticking his hand out instead.

"You don't have to salute me. I'm not in the military anymore." He said with a wink. "Mind if I join you? The food at the gala was awful." He lamented. Aramis gave Diana a pointed look.

"See? I told you!"Diana laughed aloud as Vaughn signaled to the Maitre D'. The chair was added and he took a seat, raising his newly filled glass of champagne and toasting the group. They enjoyed the rest of their dinner, content in one another's company, all thoughts of the war forgotten as the wine flowed and the courses continued to appear.

They stepped out into the chill of the autumn night, significantly more intoxicated than when they arrived. Their laughter echoed off the walls that surrounded them, drawing glances from some of the older patrons milling about in front of the elegant hotel.

"Where to now?" Don asked, his gaze falling on Chuck.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Malarkey." He responded with a shrug as Diana continued to clutch his arm for support through her laughter.

"Oh! Oh! I know!" She exclaimed suddenly. They chuckled again at her exuberance, inciting her to punch Chuck in the arm in retribution. "My brother told me about this place called Lamb & Flag. He said it was his favorite." She looked at the group expectantly.

"What the hell?" Vaughn said casually. "Lamb & Flag it is!" He gestured to the doorman who signaled for a taxi. They piled in, taking the short journey from the hotel to the pub in an obnoxious and uncomfortable fashion. They arrived at the small alleyway that separated the street from the bar, the smooth pavement giving way to the old world cobblestones.

The bar was crowded, teeming with men in an array of military uniforms from different countries, branches, divisions, and ranks, all together for the common purpose of fun and a break from the monotony of military life. Aramis navigated the crowd expertly, weaving between the groups of men with smiles and whispered apologies, their eyes, whistles, and comments trailing in her path. Diana, Chuck, and Don followed, trying to stay in the path she blazed before it closed around them. When she was finally able to charm an American sailor into letting her squeeze in at the bar, she heard her name being called from behind her. She turned around instinctively, trying to determine where the sound originated.

"Aramis?" She turned around.

"NIX!" She exclaimed loudly. She jumped into his arms, squeezing him tightly. In their mutual drunkenness, he stumbled back slightly, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he steadied himself. He set her down, still laughing as he pulled her to his side, draping his arm over her shoulders and signaling the bartender.

"Causing some trouble?" He said, dropping his head to look down at her. She smiled up at him.

"Raising hell." She replied.

"That's my girl!" He yelled proudly.

"Vaughn." Buck Compton acknowledged from Nixon's rear, reaching his hand around the other lieutenant to greet the intelligence officer. "You ladies certainly look nice tonight." He said genially. Aramis and Diana laughed.

"Yeah, a little overdressed, there Boo?" She shrugged.

"Ditched a gala." Diana said casually.

"You know, we thought it would be more fun to come fraternize with you bottom-feeding infantry." Aramis stated, casting a wink to Buck. He chuckled and shook his head as Nix pushed her away jokingly, feigning offense.

"Malarkey. Grant." Buck acknowledged his men. "You taking care of our girls?" They snapped to attention, bringing their hands up in salute. Nixon waved them off.

"None of that. Not here. This is our free time. Let's just enjoy ourselves. No politics." Buck laughed and clapped Nixon on the shoulder as Don and Chuck's faces lit up.

"Yes sir!" Don said with an impish grin.

"Just make sure these two don't get themselves into any trouble." Buck pointed at Aramis and Diana who looked at each other and then the opposite direction guiltily. Nixon scoffed.

A few minutes later they were joined by the raucous antics and thick accents of Bill Guarnere and Joe Toye, and before he knew what was happening, Don found himself holding a tumbler that contained a conspicuous amount of potent smelling brown liquid. He took a whiff and recognized it as bourbon immediately, seeing Aramis' devious smile as she held her glass.

"Aramis, you didn't!" Diana exclaimed, slamming her hand over her eyes. She responded with a smile and an intense stare, holding her glass with mischievous excitement.

"What are we toasting to?" Chuck called.

"Cheers to us. Good folks are scarce!" Aramis cried as everyone raised their glasses. "So drink up boys, because soon the bourbon will be too!" They laughed and cheered as they threw back their drinks enthusiastically.

"What, no lemon or nothing?" Bill teased. Aramis raised her eyebrow at him.

"Blasphemy. That is the nectar of the gods." She pointed at the empty glass on the bar in front of her. Bill cackled in his distinctive way, pulling her under his arm and pressing his lips to her temple.

"God I love this woman!" He cried. Everyone cheered as the night continued, reveling in the simple joy of a weekend off with friends, drinks, and a disregard for the circumstances that brought them together.

* * *

November 1943

She was both surprised an unsurprised to see them. She knew from Nix's letters that several of them would be taking trips to the city that week as they had a break in their training and were each given a pass for a few days. They had a knack for running into one another in the most random of places, so when she heard one of them calling her name as she grossed the Grosvenor Square Garden it wasn't entirely unexpected. They said they had come to see what the American Embassy looked like, and were continuing on to catch the tube at Bond Street when they ran into her. She was just coming back from lunch with Vaughn, and was heading back to the aptly named "Home Office" when they stopped her. They chatted for a moment, catching up on all the small details of their lives since they had last seen one another. When she mentioned that she was heading back to work, George teased her, making a snide comment about the "super secret special something's" she was getting up to. She countered with asking them if they would like a tour of the home office, to quell their curiosities about what a "real" spy agency looked like. They accepted her offer immediately, with Chuck responding the most quickly and ardently. She suspected that had less to do with the office, and more to do with a particular brunette whom he knew would also be there. Aramis rolled her eyes, assuring them it was just like any other office. They said they didn't care, and started to follow her as she continued down Grosvenor Street toward the unremarkable front doors of the O.S.S. London office.

As they entered the lobby, she stepped in line to have Gerald, the security advisor in charge of checking identifications and credentials for anyone trying to enter the building, issue the boys their "Visitor" passes. She didn't recognize the sandy haired gentleman standing in front of her, and made a mental note to introduce herself to him after the boys left, as he was likely a newly arrived operative that would need to be assigned to a desk. She greeted Gerald, handing the boys their visitor passes, and ushered them past the screening area. They stepped onto the main floor.

"See boys? What did I tell you? Just like any other office." The floor was milling with activity, secretaries typing reports, phones ringing, voices speaking and repeating in a myriad of different languages, and a thick cloud of cigarette smoke hanging over it all. She walked them around the floor as they gazed at it in awe. She started pointing at things and stating random inane facts, more mocking them than acting as a typical tour guide. They passed Esther's desk just as she hung up the phone. They greeted one another and struck up a conversation, catching up on the same details Aramis had gone over with them on the street outside.

As she listened to the 5 of them converse, Chuck keeping a keen eye out for Diana, Aramis saw the same man who had been in line to enter the building quietly shut the door to a confidential storage room that only established operatives working in secret intelligence were allowed to access. She turned her head, her eyes focusing on the door instinctively. The man looked to his left, and then again to his right in a casual manner. His eyes met Aramis' and she saw a small glimmer of surprise cross his face. He released the door handle, and walked away, smiling at someone as he walked by. Without another word or a second thought, Aramis started to follow him.

Her sudden departure incited a suspicious look from Esther, and confused faces from the boys.

"Stark, where you going?" Bill Guarnere called after her softly. Seeing the look on Esther's face, Don's gaze followed Aramis, and he noticed the man who had been standing in line before them when they entered. He started off; following her path to make sure everything was okay. Sensing his friend's urgency, Chuck followed, hot on Don's heels.

She didn't pay attention to them, continuing to follow the sandy haired man, weaving her way in between the desks and around the secretaries with arms full of paper. He glanced over his shoulder casually. Noticing that Aramis was now following him, he noticeably opened his stride, covering more ground and picking up his pace. Out of the corner of her eye, Aramis saw Vaughn standing just outside the door to David Bruce's office, conversing with him casually. She tapped him on the shoulder as she passed. _1-2-3 for Emergency._ He stopped midsentence, and turned his head in the direction of the taps. He saw Aramis' form retreating, her hand spelling out "S-P-Y" in American Sign Language behind her back. He walked away from Bruce without another word, joining the contingent of men following in Aramis Stark's wake. The man placed a hat on his head, checking behind him again as he tilted his chin downward. As he lifted his arm, Aramis saw something fall out of the sleeve of his jacket and land quietly on the carpeted floor. Narrow, gray, and string-like, she recognized it as a wire to a fuse, indicating that he had likely placed some kind of time-delayed bomb in the closet from which Aramis had seen him emerge. Her eyes widened.

The man blew past Diana, his shoulder bumping hers as he passed.

"Excuse you." She said to him. Her eyes met Aramis', and concern instantly flooded her face.

"Trigger the alarm." Aramis said softly as she walked by. Diana whipped her head around, her eyes following her friend as she reached underneath the wood of her desk and pressed a hidden button. A shrill alarm started to blare through the building. Everyone set down their phones, their pencils, their papers, and anything else they were holding and started to make their way toward the back stairwell of the building, and toward the lock-down shelter underground. This was the final test, for all true O.S.S. staff members knew of the protocol. The man continued to head toward the exit, in spite of the fact that every other person was heading in the other direction. Aramis was drawing closer to him now, as the crowd of people had slowed him significantly. Vaughn was a few paces behind her, with Don and Chuck a few steps behind him.

The man stepped out of the office doors and into the security screening area of the lobby. Gerald stood and called for the man to stop. He kept walking, ignoring the security guards protests. As Gerald reached to press the button that would lock the front doors, the man pulled a gun from behind his jacket and fired, hitting Gerald in the chest and sending him tumbling to the ground. There was a collective scream as the round went off, with the staff members remaining inside the lobby ducking for cover, and running toward the office for the safety of the lock-down shelter. A boom resounded from inside the office, indicating that the time-delay explosives the man had placed detonated, creating mass chaos as a distraction from his exit.

Aramis emerged from the office and into the lobby as Gerald tumbled to the ground. She stopped short upon hearing the round, her autonomic nervous system reacting instinctively to the impending danger. Don, Chuck, and Vaughn caught up to her a few seconds later, their attention turning to the felled security guard bleeding on the floor. As the man saw them emerge from over his shoulder, he started shooting behind him as he picked up into a run, trying to exit the building before they could catch him. Aramis pulled her sidearm from the inside pocket of her blazer, shoving Don into the alcove of the elevator doors to protect him from the flying bullets, and firing her own weapon to return his fire. She saw him exit the building, and she took off running after him.

Vaughn paused for a split second, looking to Grant and Don to make sure they were unharmed.

"Grant, go find Diana and make sure no one was wounded in the explosion. Then help her seal off the building." He didn't wait for a response as he took off out the doors, sprinting after Aramis and the spy who had threatened their lives and their operation.

He wasn't difficult to spot. He had cut a wide swath through the busy street in the Mayfair District, firing his gun behind him as he tried to shake Aramis from his tail. He succeeded in hitting the brick of some of the buildings, and wounding a few civilians. They ducked and screamed, diving out of her way as she pursued him. He tried shooting a few more times before realizing his magazine was empty, then threw the weapon into the street as he continued to weave through the frightened passersby on Grosvenor. He made it to the corner of New Bond Street before she caught up to him, her body slamming into his from the side and throwing him against the brick column of an upscale boutique.

He swung at her, as she had anticipated he would. His movements were becoming erratic and defensive, and therefore predictable. She ducked, using the variance in their heights to stay out of his reach. She landed a punch to his ribcage, just where his lungs and diaphragm overlapped. She felt him exhale involuntarily, his breath rushing through her hair as he sunk down with the impact of her punch. As she stood up straight, his fist caught the left side of her jaw, and she tasted blood in her mouth as her lip split open with the impact. She took a few steps back, recovering quickly from the feeling of his knuckles connecting with her jawbone. He grabbed the lapels of her jacket and threw her against the brick wall, pulling a knife from his belt with his left hand. She caught his downward thrust, her forearms catching his wrists about 6 inches in front of her face. She pressed her back against the wall, using her body weight to keep the knife at bay. The tip of the blade inched closer to her face, and she could feel his breath blasting across her cheeks as he desperately tried to overcome her. His body neared closer to hers, and she saw her opportunity. She brought her knee up, connecting it with his groin swiftly and powerfully. His grip went slack, and she shoved his arms and the knife away from her, hearing it clatter to the pavement as it fell from his hands. She shifted her weight to one leg and crouched, swiping his feet out from underneath him with her other foot and steadying herself with her hands on the ground. He fell unceremoniously to the pavement with a thud, landing on his stomach and barely keeping his face from making contact with the sidewalk. She climbed over his back as he fell, and placed her knee on his chin. With a single, gentle downward thrust, she knocked him unconscious. She stood up, and looked down at him triumphantly, her chest rising and falling quickly as she tried to recover her breathing.

Vaughn came running, sidearm drawn, his suit jacket blowing in the wind. His face was stony, and he stopped abruptly as he saw her standing there. He looked down at the man lying unconscious on the pavement before returning his attention to his operative.

"Got him." She said breathlessly. "BEFORE he could take a cyanide pill." Don and George ran up behind them, stopping just as abruptly as Vaughn had. Her hands went to her waist as her breathing slowed. Seeing that she was bleeding, Vaughn stepped over the man, his face weaving itself into a look of concern. He put his sidearm in its holster underneath his jacket and took her face in his hands. He moved her head back and forth, inspecting her jaw in a paternal manner.

"Are you okay?" He asked her, his voice and face like marble. She nodded, rolling her jaw around, and bringing her hand up to where the man's fist had connected with her face.

"It's going to be GORGEOUS." She said, enunciating the last word in a sarcastic singsong voice. He rolled his eyes at her and dropped his hands. Two police officers approached, and stood before them as if awaiting orders. Vaughn looked down at the man lying on the ground, his lip curling in disdain. He lifted his head to the officers, who bent over and grabbed the man underneath his armpits, dragging him up. He was dead weight, his head hanging limply, his fair falling into his face, occluding his features.

"Get him out of here." Vaughn said to them, his voice stern. They dragged him away to a waiting police car, Vaughn following in their footsteps

"Wait a second, you're just going to take him to a regular jail?" Aramis heard George ask.

"Those aren't real cops." She whispered, walking back toward the O.S.S. Office, leaving a confused George, Don, and civilian population of London in her wake. Diana, Bill, Chuck, and Esther were waiting for them outside as Gerald was being loaded into an ambulance.

"Is he going to be okay?" Aramis asked as they shut the doors and drove off. Diana nodded.

"He's lost a lot of blood, but they're confident he's going to pull through." She said. They watched as the ambulance made a right turn and disappeared into London traffic. They heard Vaughn's distinctive steps approach behind them.

"Ladies, we've got a lot of work to do." He said definitively before turning toward the door to walk back inside. He paused with his hand on the door handle and turned back to the group. "And boys? Not a word about what you saw here today. Got it?" He pointed at each of them. They watched him re-enter the building and looked back to their friends.

"Sorry boys." Aramis said softly. "I guess this concludes your tour." She shrugged.

"And you said it was just a normal office…" Bill teased. The girls chuckled and shook their heads. "Thanks for the excitement, ladies."

They bid them a safe weekend and a good journey before re-entering the office. Things had returned to some state of normal. Everyone had re-emerged from the lock down shelter and began to resume their work, though they were noticeably shaken. Aramis walked back to her desk and stood there for a moment, her hand on her hip, the other splayed over the papers that fanned over its surface. She rolled her jaw around once more, the pain and soreness increasing as her adrenaline waned.

The next morning brought more soreness, and she wasn't far off when she remarked, however sarcastically, how "gorgeous" her face would look thanks to the espionage invader. Her jaw had turned a deep purple overnight, the bit of her lip that had split open crusted over with a thick scab. She was quite the spectacle, and she drew more than a few looks on her way into the office that morning. She sat at her desk, looking at the stacks of paper she needed to sort through in order to make sure they had everything they needed for the next planning session, and she lost herself in thought as she tried to plow through her work.

"Stark." She snapped out of her reverie as Vaughn's voice called out to her sharply. She met his eyes. "David wants us in his office. Now." She met Diana's eyes anxiously, not sure what awaited her in their mysterious director's office.

When she entered, Vaughn was already seated in one of the chairs, and she was instantly reminded of her father's office at Stark Enterprises in New York. David Bruce looked up at her as he crossed the threshold, peering at her over the tops of his glasses.

"Close the door, please." He said briskly, not waiting for her to announce herself. Her eyes flitted nervously to Vaughn as she shut the door. When she turned around to face them, she tried to keep her face neutral and emotionless. "Have a seat, Miss Stark." She maneuvered herself to sit in the chair next to Vaughn. "I've been speaking with Vaughn about the incident in our office yesterday. I understand you were the first to identify the suspect." She nodded.

"Yes sir."

"And you tracked him down."

"Yes sir." She said again.

"Onto a busy London street. Full of civilians." He said, his voice taking on a more accusatory tone.

"Yes sir." She said, her voice wavering slightly. Her anxiety was building, and she wasn't certain she liked the direction the conversation was taking.

"Where he opened fire on you. And the busy London street. Full of civilians." He said, his tone harsher. Vaughn looked at her out of the corner of his eye, his face remaining stony but shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

"Yes sir."

"I'm not sure what to do with this, Stark. This is quite a mess for the Agency. One that won't be easy to clean up." She looked up at him, her eyes defiant.

"Yes sir." He sighed.

"I've spoken with General Donovan. He is in agreement. There is really only one way to handle this situation." Aramis clasped her hands together as Bruce produced two pieces of paper form his desk drawer. He passed them across the desk, one for Aramis and one for Vaughn. Her heart sank as she saw the logo of the Office of Strategic Services emblazoned across the top, and she knew it was over.

"Sir, I think that perhaps we should consider…" Vaughn started as he reached across the desk to take the paper from Bruce's desk. He held up a finger, silencing Vaughn instantly.

"You have both been promoted." Bruce said plainly. Aramis' eyes went wide and her jaw dropped.

"I'm sorry?" She stammered, setting the paper in her lap.

"You've both been promoted." He said again, moderately annoyed at needing to repeat himself. "Frankly, Miss Stark, you are one of the most talented operatives this Agency has. You have an instinct that is unparalleled by even your British counterparts, and we are forever in your debt for your ability to think quickly and act appropriately. I shudder to think of the casualties, both in our office and in the field, if the intruder had managed to escape." He paused briefly and regarded Aramis with a passive and almost disinterested look. "Vaughn, you have been given the rank of Colonel, a commensurate promotion from your time with the military and the secret service. Aramis, you will now have the military rank of Captain. You already serve as Vaughn's second in command, but this promotion will solidify it." He sat back in his chair, signifying he was finished with his speech.

"Thank you, sir…" Aramis started to say as she stood.

"Don't thank me. This was earned. Both of you." He stood and shook their hands. "Carry on." And he waved them out of the office.

* * *

December 1943

She sat quietly on the train, heading west for Aldbourne with the rest of her unit to participate in a series of 2-day "Problem" exercises the army had devised. General Taylor had called in his return favor from General Donovan, asking the O.S.S. to participate to help his commanders gain experience in receiving and integrating the field reports, using the "real-time" information to adjust their strategies as needed. General Donovan was happy to oblige, and Vaughn accepted the assignment happily, as he knew his unit was getting cabin fever in the London office day after day. They would spending the next 2 weeks in the sleepy English countryside, working alongside various units in the armed forces to hone their skills, and practice with live test subjects.

She was reading the particulars of the exercise the General had sent to their office, focusing mostly on the planned strategies that the Airborne companies would be using to navigate the area. Vaughn intentionally removed the sections that detailed the movements of the "enemy" companies, insisting that this was as much a training exercise for them as it would be for the airborne. She was happy for the challenge, and couldn't wait to immerse herself in the field once more.

Vaughn was also very specific about what they could tell the Airborne and other infantry about what they had been doing, and that was nothing. Aramis and her colleagues had been hard at work since they landed in London, helping to finalize the plans for a massive Allied push back into mainland Europe. They were calling it Operation Overlord, and it was set to be one of the largest demonstrations of unified force the world had ever seen. They had spent hours poring over maps and photographs of the areas, assigning handlers to newly acquisitioned assets, constructing continuity plans and establishing hierarchies for resistance networks, and all the other last minute yet indescribably important details upon which a successful mission hinged. But the men hadn't been told the specifics of the invasion, and Vaughn was adamant that they not find out. So she focused on the task at hand, excited to be able to spend some time with Nixon and her other friends for a few days.

She found herself standing in a freshly constructed canvas tent in the middle of a field, listening to the Commanding Officers of the 506th Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division as they reviewed their respective missions for the exercise. As Vaughn's second in command, it was her responsibility to assist him with field reports, which included synthesizing the intelligence from their other operatives, and attending meetings to provide necessary context and information where needed. He had come to think of her less as a "lieutenant", and more as a peer as they worked together in London, developing an implicit trust in her knowledge and abilities. He gave her the authority to speak as she saw fit, adamantly forcing the point that they were not a military organization, and not subject to the formalized and rigid hierarchy.

She listened as Major Strayer outlined their objectives, pointing at various positions on his map as he spoke. Colonel Sink, and the C.O.'s of the assorted companies of 2nd battalion, including Captain Sobel, Lieutenant Winters, and Captain Nixon, joined them. Nix made a face at her as she entered, careful that Sobel and Strayer didn't see him break attention. She smiled and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for the Major to begin the briefing. The mention of Easy Company pulled her from her thoughts, and Strayer was looking to Captain Sobel, asking if each platoon had been briefed on their assignments. Captain Sobel nodded and motioned toward Lieutenant Winters, who stepped toward the map to relay the information to the Major.

"1st platoon will be led by Captain Sobel and will move in this direction to catch the enemy from the left at the T-crossing of the road. I'll be leading Second platoon up the embankment and across these fields to catch them, with third platoon feinting to catch them off guard here, which should catch them on all sides." Aramis nodded, remembering the maps and strategic plans from the dossier she had studied on the train. As usual, Dick was succinct and accurate, describing each mission concisely and with perfect knowledge of the map before him. She saw Captain Sobel roll his eyes and step forward, reaching toward the map, a look of superiority and disdain on his face.

"I think you mean, here, Lieutenant." Sobel said, his voice condescending and smug. Aramis shook her head at the Captain's supposed correction, seeing he was a full grid away from where he was supposed to be, and where Winters had just indicated. The Lieutenant looked a little sheepish, knowing his C.O. was wrong, but also knowing that he couldn't say so in front of the other commanders.

"No. Not there." She said firmly. She pointed at the red figures just next to the grid Sobel referenced. "That's across enemy lines, which will absolutely expose them, and likely get them all killed. Lieutenant Winters' trajectory was spot on." She corrected. She heard Vaughn take a deep breath next to her, but his face was stony and neutral as usual. Sobel turned to her, a look of fury and contempt spreading across his features.

"I think I know where I'm supposed to be leading MY men." He said with a sardonic laugh. She cocked an eyebrow at him and pursed her lips. A dangerous smirk crossed the left side of her face as she stared him down.

"Well, I'd agree with you, but then we'd both be wrong." Her eyes never left him, and he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. His nostrils flared and his lip curled in disgust.

"I'm sorry, young lady, who are you?" He retorted derisively, emphasizing the "young lady" as a misogynistic attempt to put her in what he viewed as her place. Aramis opened her mouth to respond, when she heard Vaughn's voice next to her.

"She is an operative of the Office of Strategic Services, my second in command, and of the same military rank as you, Captain Sobel. I suggest you mind your tone." Vaughn said dangerously. "Your 1st lieutenant is accurate. Perhaps if you looked at the map from this vantage point, you'd see more clearly." His eyes were hard, his jaw set, almost as if he was daring Sobel to challenge him. They glared at one another, in a testosterone driven staring contest that Sobel could never hope to win. His lip curled, and he looked back at the map.

"Of course, my mistake." He said slowly. He turned back to Winters, who had his hands behind his back, and eyes planted firmly on the map in front of him, wishing he could have been anywhere but that tent in that tense and awkward moment.

"Alright." Major Strayer said, trying to break the tension. "Let's get it done. Move out." He commanded. The officers started to file out of the tent, lifting the canvas flap and heading for their respective companies to relay the information they had just received. The Major turned to Vaughn and Aramis, his lips pursed and an eyebrow cocked. "Let's all try and play nice, hm?" He said before walking away. Aramis rolled her eyes and groaned under her breath, casting her eyes to Vaughn.

"I'm not sorry." She deadpanned.

"Nor should you be. Let's move out. We've got to get to our positions."

"I'll meet you at the assembly. There's something I need to do." He looked at her curiously, narrowing his eyes at her before turning and walking away. She turned and saw Winters walking toward his assembly area where 2nd platoon would be waiting for him. He was alone, as Captain Sobel and Sgt. Evans had stomped off in another direction, heading for the poor 1st platoon that would be on the receiving end of his wrath. She broke into a jog, trying to catch up with him as he marched.

"Dick." She said softly from behind him. She caught up and whispered to him quickly as she fell in step at his side. "The embankment has an enemy assault team heading toward it that's ready to ambush. If you double-time it to the fields, you'll be able to take cover in the hedgerows and catch them from the rear with enough time to secure your objective." She opened her stride as she took a pathway that diverged from his and continued on her way. He smiled and shook his head, ready to relay the change of strategy to his platoon.

Their debrief was interrupted rather unceremoniously. Vaughn stopped speaking abruptly and cocked his head for a moment when they all heard it. An animalistic groan that sounded suspiciously bovine. He turned around and opened the door to the temporary structure they were using as a headquarters. Aramis leaned to the left in her chair to get a better view, and furrowed her brow as she saw a flash of what looked like a brown cow pass by the doorway.

"What the hell?" She heard Vaughn say. He stepped through the door, Aramis and the rest of the unit stood to follow him. Sure enough, a herd of brown female cows was meandering across their base, stopping to eat grass, knocking over stacks of tires and spent rounds, and covering the area in their waste. Diana slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh as Vaughn cocked his head to the side in confusion. Aramis scoffed and laughed softly, pressing her lips together tightly to keep herself from vocalizing. Esther, on the other hand, pointed in front of her and laughed aloud, throwing her head back in glee as she watched the large farm animals wreak passive havoc on the makeshift base. They heard Major Strayer leave the officers tent, complaining rather loudly about what happened. Aramis and team watched happily as Captain Sobel tried to explain himself out of the situation, only to be given the what for by his commanding officer.

Nixon was rather pleased with himself as he leaned against the stone fence separating the road from one of the many fields. The problem exercise had gone better than expected, and Easy Company received top marks for their achievement. This was, however, more because of Carwood Lipton, Dick Winters, and himself than anything. Sobel had, once again, completely misread the map and guided his platoon in the wrong direction, causing them to arrive at the assembly point late. When he arrived, 2nd and 3rd platoon had successfully completed the objective. Apparently, some of the boys played a joke on Sobel as well, tricking him into thinking Major Horton was moving between the platoons as an observer, and causing the Captain to cut a barbed wire fence, releasing an entire herd of cattle. Nevertheless, Major Strayer had expressed his pleasure with their performance, saying they adapted well to changing conditions in the field, and responded well to receiving real-time intelligence from their O.S.S. partners better than any other company. Nix thought that might have had something to do with a certain childhood friend of his slipping them a little extra information, but he wasn't about to talk out of school.

He smiled to himself as he took a draw of his cigarette, wishing he could have been there to see Sobel's misfortune and the platoon's antics in response to it. He glanced at Dick from his periphery. The 1st Lieutenant was lost in his own head as he usually was, and Nixon hoped he wasn't worrying over their fickle and contemptuous C.O. They watched as a group of their men played a game of pick-up basketball in front of one of the houses in which they were billeted, burning off some of their adrenaline and energy that only comes from a job well done. The higher-ups were still reviewing the results of the problem exercise, trying to determine what needed improvement, and which regiments and companies should be assigned which jobs for the coming invasion.

Unlike the rest of his company, Nixon had a very good idea of what was coming their way. Everyone knew they would be dropping into the mainland, but the scale of the invasion had yet to be disclosed to anyone. He knew it wasn't a coincidence that some of the "Problems" they were asked to work through had to do less with jumping out of a plane and more with unarmored assaults. They trained with bazookas, mortars, grenades, limpet mines, and other anti-tank and anti-armor artillery more than anything else. Nixon knew the allies didn't have any armor on the mainland. All French munitions had been seized and re-purposed by the Germans, but they would need it, and there was no way the planes could drop it. That could only mean one thing. It was coming in by boat, and it would be their job to make sure it could do so safely. He heard whispers around the officers club, lots of code words and obscure references that made little to no sense. Things like "Overlord," "amphibious landing," and "Utah Beach," though the last time he checked, Utah was a landlocked state that had little by the way of beaches save for desolate salt flats and piles of sand that surrounded a lake 10 times saltier than the Pacific Ocean. He also knew that the planning was a combined effort between The Brits and The Americans, meaning the push was going to be an all-out assault, and a roll of the dice that put them all-in on their bets. And though he tried to keep his eyes peeled for more information, it was more carefully guarded than the crown jewels in the tower of London.

The sound of an approaching jeep pulled him from his thoughts. It pulled up in front of the basketball hoop, obnoxiously and rudely interrupting the game the men had been innocently playing. He looked up to see Sergeant Evans striding toward them with a piece of paper in his hand, a haughty grin plastered over his face. He approached them and saluted weakly, the grin turning to a smirk as he extended his hand toward Dick.

"Lieutenant Winters." He said, conceit dripping from his tone. Nixon narrowed his eyes at the sergeant, swallowing his desire to slap the smirk off his face. "With Captain Sobel's compliments, sir." Dick, ever the calm and collected soldier, took the piece of paper from the Sergeant after returning his salute. He gave Sobel's lackey a soft smile.

"Thank you, Sergeant." He replied. Nix said nothing, preferring not to get himself involved in whatever trouble was brewing. Evans turned on his heel and strode off without another word. He clambered into the jeep and sped off, almost hitting Frank Perconte as they drove. Nix leaned over Dick's shoulder as he opened the page, and scoffed at the words it contained. "Oh for crying out loud…" Dick muttered under his breath. Nix hitched an eyebrow.

"Misspelled 'Court Martial'…" He said passively, pointing out the glaring flaw on the page. Dick fell silent, and the tension flowed off of him like waves. Nix watched his friend carefully, his normally calm features brimming with anger. This was the last straw in what could only be described as an already tumultuous relationship. They knew Sobel was mercurial and arrogant, a combination that didn't lend itself well to gaining the admiration and respect of people in general, let alone a group of headstrong young men about to embark on a full-scale invasion of Europe. When combined with his attention-seeking and jealous personality traits, peppered with his incompetence in this field, it created a volatile mixture that was rapidly reaching a boiling point. This act, which could only be described as spiteful, vindictive, and immature was totally out of line, and Nixon was afraid of what the fallout might be once the pot boiled over.

Dick could scarcely believe his eyes. He read over the words several times before they actually registered, and it took Nixon calling out the spelling errors for him to realize the implication. He had been called to appear before Sobel for charges of failing to carry out his duties, though he had carried them out to the letter. He fell silent, wracking his brain for any potential wrong doing on his part, trying to prepare himself for the inevitable meeting with his C.O. He came up empty, and headed toward the C.P. station where he might find the Captain, hoping it was a miscommunication that could be handled summarily and without further issue.

When he arrived, it became abundantly clear that would not be the case. Sobel had behaved as Dick feared he would, in a capricious and egotistical manner that was beyond the scope of reason. It was the last straw, and he wasn't going to stand for it anymore. He was an honest man, a fair man, and Richard Winters would accept any punishment for any wrongdoing on his part gladly, and with humility. He understood the necessity of pushing the man to brink, as their enemy wouldn't wait for them to digest their spaghetti before making them run for their lives. He knew the unforgiving and incessant weapons training, physical conditioning, and night marches were the reason why Easy Company was leading all other companies across the varied regiments of the Airborne Infantry of the United States Army. He believed that the company's dislike of Captain Sobel was a unifying force that brought all of them, men from different regions of the country with little else in common than their unit and their desire to fight for their country, to a place where they were closer than brothers. But he could not abide taking a punishment as severe as a court martial to appease Sobel's desire to assert his dominance. The one-sided struggle for control had become tiresome, and Dick wasn't going to play anymore. He took the Captain's pen, and signed his endorsement for the trial by court martial, watching as his C.O.'s face fell with the knowledge that he would now have to substantiate his claims. After more ridiculous manipulation of the UCMJ that bordered on Gerrymandering, Dick was transferred to battalion HQ as the mess officer while the powers-that-be investigated Sobel's claims. It killed him to leave his men subject to the wrath of their incompetent C.O. without a shield, and everyone watched and waited to see how the situation would shake out, and what would happen when the dust finally settled.

The Non-Com's took it the hardest. Without Winters there to act as a buffer between them and the C.O., things regressed quickly. There were more citations written in the first three days of his transfer than their entire time in England put together. Not one man kept his weekend pass, and the NCO's were soon at a breaking point for trying to control their enraged comrades. Lipton called a meeting of the NCO's, minus Sergeant Evans, who was, in essence, Sobel's puppet. Something had to be done, and they didn't need their C.O. getting wind of their plans before they were able to enact them. It was there, in the barn that acted as their "office" of sorts, that he, Bill Guarnere, Mike Ranney, Charles Grant, Floyd Talbert, John Martin, Bull Randleman, and the other Easy Company Non-Commissioned Officers decided to give Colonel Sink an ultimatum: Captain Sobel's transfer, or their service as non-commissioned officers.

Her face was stony, and her jaw was set as she walked towards the last known location of her targets. The last week had been rather turbulent, and Aramis was more than a little concerned for her friends in Easy Company. When Nixon told her that Sobel had summoned Winters to court martial, she was unsurprised. He was a petulant, and immature man, whose ineptitude was matched only by his passive aggressive, one-sided struggle for control of his company. She wished she could help, but as a non-military government operative there was little she was able to do.

Things spiraled out of control very quickly once Winters was transferred to battalion headquarters, and Aramis found herself having to try harder and harder to bite her tongue when she was around Captain Sobel. He was worse than ever, and it seemed like he viewed the transfer of his 1st Lieutenant as something he had won, as though Dick was an obstacle that Sobel was proud to have defeated. His pride and arrogance was off the charts, and his treatment of the SI-X66 team depreciated to a point where he and Esther almost came to blows during a field report. Katherine calmed her down, and took her back to the assembly, where the situation was relayed to Vaughn in detail. He sat, brimming with silent rage as they spoke, and for the first time, Aramis was actually afraid of Vaughn and what he might do. He dismissed them curtly, barking at Aramis to remain, where they drafted a plan that would take care of this once and for all. Not just for their sake, but for all of their friends who would be affected by him going forward, and they prayed it would be sufficient.

When Nixon ran up behind her and told her what the NCO's had done, she wasn't just shocked, she was livid. Losing Dick was bad enough, but if the company lost its Non-Com's, she doubted there would still be a base left in Aldbourne after the rest of Easy was through. She looked at him dangerously, under hooded eyes and through gritted teeth, demanding to know where they were. He suggested she start at their unofficial headquarters in the barn behind the regimental C.P., knowing better than to say much else. Her eyes settled on the structure she was seeking, and she picked up her pace with renewed fury as she approached.

She stormed through the doors, causing them to slam with a loud 'bang' as she entered, startling all of them, and causing Mike Ranney to spill his newly poured cup of coffee. She looked at each of them quickly, her nostrils flared, her fists balled at her sides, and she unleashed such hell on them, it made their meeting with Colonel Sink look like an address for a regimental parade.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" She yelled at them. Lipton had never seen her this angry before, her body language indicating that she was barely holding herself back from ripping them to shreds.

"Hello to you too, Aramis." Guarnere replied defensively, stirring his cup of coffee.

"Do NOT even start with me, Bill. What were you thinking?! You could have been killed!" They looked at one another in sideways glances, waiting to see if someone would brave enough to respond. Bill took the lead again.

"But we weren't. And now Sink knows how we feel." Her shoulders collapsed and her mouth dropped open as her eyes narrowed and she looked at Bill as though he just tried to make a case in favor of the flat earth movement. She slapped her hands over her eyes and groaned aloud.

"Jesus Christ, you guys. You're so stupid."

"Lay off, Aramis. Not all of us are lucky enough to follow Vaughn Craft into war. We did what we had to." Chuck spoke up. Aramis glared and pointed at him, moving her body back into its aggressive stance once more.

"Chuck, Vaughn had a meeting with Colonel Sink this morning about Captain Sobel." She stated, her tone mirroring her stance. Ranney and Randleman, who had been staring at the wooden table as tough it held the deepest secrets of the world perked up, and all of them looked at her with intense curiosity.

"What?!" Martin exclaimed.

"Yes, John. Vaughn had a meeting with your commander this morning to address this very issue. He and I were up for the better part of last night crafting our argument and securing the proper approvals."

"What?" Bill asked. She cocked her eyebrow and stared at him, a look of triumph gracing her tired features.

"It is the official position of the Office of Strategic Services that Captain Sobel should not be permitted into combat situations, given the liability he presents to our operatives, our activities, and our assets."

"What?!" Lipton said in disbelief. They were all dumbstruck, unable to tear their eyes from her. She sighed.

"Essentially, Vaughn told the Colonel that if he wants our help, Sobel can't be involved. Vaughn refuses to work with him, and provided signed approvals from our high command stating the office supports and reinforces this refusal. The O.S.S. won't work with him, in the field, or at home. Sink knows what that means. Sink is a smart man. Sink is transferring him somewhere else." Their eyes went wide and their mouths dropped open into an array of perfect little "O"'s staring back at her.

"What?" Lipton supplied weakly.

"Do you have any other words in your vocabulary?" She asked sarcastically. "Sobel is gone. You're getting a new C.O. You're absolute IDIOTS for threatening mutiny, and if you ever do something that stupid again, I will kill you myself. Understand?" They nodded, at this point, too dumbstruck to speak. "Oh, and keep your mouths shut. I don't think anyone else knows about this, and I'm not about to get kicked out of the field and stuck behind a desk because I got caught talking out of school to a bunch of idiots who thought threatening their regimental C.O. with mutiny was a good way to enact change." She pointed at each of them, not removing her gaze until they affirmed her statement, each of them nodding as they still found themselves speechless. "Good. And congratulations." She stormed out; her dark curls bouncing along behind her as she strode away, leaving a pack of speechless and ecstatic Non-Com's in her wake.

* * *

That's all for now. As always, I would love nothing more than to hear from you. Please let me know what you think!


	5. The Days of Days

**Authors Note 1:** Finally into the fun parts! Thanks for sticking with the context and some of the more boring stuff. I promise, from here on out it's not nearly as dry. I had much more fun writing every chapter from this point forward than any of the previous chapters. Hopefully you'll feel the same way.

**Authors Note 2:** I don't own Band of Brothers, Stark Enterprises, or anything related to the Marvel Universe. I do own my original fictional characters, but I'm not making any money on this, so it's irrelevant.

Enjoy.

* * *

**All We Cannot See**

**Chapter 5: The Days of Days**

The salty air gusted over his face as the plane rumbled and bumped its way across the English Channel. Just before takeoff, the pilot had given him a choice: they could have door closed and smoke, or leave it open and get some fresh air. It was unseasonably hot, especially under all their gear, so Lewis Nixon opted to keep the door open, hoping he and his men would be asleep for most of the journey anyway. But sleep wouldn't come, and he found himself wishing he had opted for keeping the door closed, as he would have given his trust fund for a cigarette. He looked over the rest of the plane. Most of the men had their eyes closed, though how many were actually asleep was a matter of opinion. Charles Grant sat across from him, eyes open and glazed over. He held the shoulder straps of his parachute tightly as he stared off into space, lost in his thoughts.

Nixon looked out the door, brushing a rogue clump of hair out of his eyes as the wind blew around him. The remaining vestiges of the storm that delayed them earlier were still over the channel covering the body of water in a blanket of cloud cover. They began to thin and dissipate as they moved closer to the mainland, and he was able to see faint outlines of forms as they took shape in the water.

He had been present in all the briefing meetings once the operation was confirmed, and he had seen almost every iteration of the mock-ups that came into Division and Regimental Headquarters. On paper, he knew exactly what Operation Overlord would look like, and he could reconstruct a chart of it himself in less than 2 minutes. But nothing could have prepared him for what he saw as they cleared the last of the clouds and had a clear view of the water, and even though all his training told him otherwise, he looked straight down. His breath left him momentarily and his jaw went slack. He looked across the aisle and caught Chuck Grant's eye. He waved him over.

"You need to see this." Nixon said. Chuck's eyes narrowed as he regained his focus. He slid out of his seat and onto the floor. He crawled the short distance across the plane and sat next to Lieutenant Nixon's seat.

"What sir?" Chuck yelled back. Nixon smiled at him, almost too stunned to speak. He pointed out the door.

"Look!" He yelled back. Chuck followed the direction of Nixon's outstretched hand and looked out over the water.

Thousands upon thousands of vessels were below them. Warships, aircraft carriers, submarines and amphibious landing crafts glided over the inky blank waters of the English Channel. The moonlight reflected off the turbulent sea in dozens of different directions, ever changing as the waves fell against the hulls of the boats. The sight was impossible to describe, and more powerful than either of them could have imagined. It was more incredible than the Greek invasions of Troy and Sparta, and more awe-inspiring than the Great Spanish Armada that sailed to conquer Elizabeth I. They sat in silence, staring out over the channel as they flew overhead.

"Those are our boys." Nixon said as he looked at the warships. Grant looked up at the intelligence officer with wide eyes. "This will be the greatest single showing of allied force in history, Grant." He didn't look up. "And here we are. In the Vanguard, ready to pave the way for everyone down there."

Chuck took a deep breath and stared back over the channel. He felt the goose bumps rise on his flesh despite the elevated temperature and he said a silent prayer for all of them. Everyone in his plane, in the paratroopers, and in the army. He prayed for everyone on the warships, the aircraft carriers, the submarines and the amphibious landing crafts below. He prayed for the O.S.S., and Aramis, and Diana, and everyone else in their squad. He prayed for the French who had lost their country and their freedom to the tyranny of the Nazi's, and he prayed for the strength that would allow him to change that.

The passed the front line of the ships in the advance, pulling ahead of them as they approached the coastline. As he looked out over the Navy and heard the roaring engines of the planes that surrounded him, his heart swelled and his confidence brimmed. Defeat was outside the realm of possibility, and he knew in that moment that he would stand over the rubble of the German Empire proudly, alongside his friends and with the knowledge that he had served the world proudly and with distinction, no matter the cost.

The boats were out of sight. He looked up to Lieutenant Nixon. They stared at one another, an understanding of the experience they shared passing between them wordlessly. Chuck crawled to his seat and pushed himself into it, resting against the sidewall of the plane quietly as he lost himself in his thoughts.

The red light illuminated, bathing the occupants in an eerie glow. Nixon called and motioned them to stand and hook up. Chuck kept his eyes forward, the brave determination firming his resolve. He saw the small flash out the door as the water gave way to land and the air around them began to explode.

* * *

He needed to get out of that truck. After spending the previous night on a loud, bouncing airplane, the early morning running through enemy territory and trying to find the assembly point, the mid-day capturing their objective, and the afternoon taking out German guns and artillery stations, the storage compartment of the truck where they had been cooking and drinking smelled worse than all the locker rooms, barracks, and bathrooms Don Malarkey had ever been subject to combined. The heat, sweat, cigarette smoke and rations roasting over the fire were suffocating, and he needed to escape. He hopped down, his feet touching the ground nimbly as he tried to close the flap behind him as quickly as possible, and he took a deep breath of sweet fresh air. It filled his lungs, and even the fumes of gasoline and metallic smell of blood were preferable to the inside of that truck.

He started walking, trying to take a few minutes to himself to collect his thoughts and reflect on the day. His adrenaline was still flowing, his reflexes agile, his senses heightened, and his movements almost jittery. He continued in a steady pace, taking deep breaths and flexing his hands, trying to work out some of the built up tension in his body. He was also a little drunk. After their assault on Brécourt, the men found several cellars in the basements of the abandoned houses, taking bottles of wine, cider, and beer as plunder and reward for a job well done. He found himself taking more than a few pulls from several bottles as they made their way around the truck where they were cooking, leaving his head a little fuzzy and his tongue a little heavy.

He found himself walking toward the manor from which their assault drew its name, seeing a flash of dim candlelight from behind a heavy drawn curtain as someone walked past it. His feet were dragging in the grass, and he slowed his pace as he heard the side door to the manor open. He stopped upon hearing the voices of Major Strayer and Colonel Sink, not wanting to get himself caught for being a little drunk and out of form. He heard two other familiar voices, and he peeked his head around one of the famous hedgerows to see what was going on. He saw the distinct black tactical gear of the O.S.S., and recognized Vaughn and Aramis immediately. Their voices were muted, but their tone indicated that the conversation was coming to an end. He saw them shake hands before Vaughn turned to his second in command.

"Stark, I'm going to make the call." His voice was like gravel. "Meet me at the assembly in an hour." She nodded, her curls bouncing in her ponytail as her head moved. Vaughn turned back to Colonel Sink, and walked back into the manor, Major Strayer following behind them. He heard her exhale loudly, and saw her turn on her heel to head away from the manor door. She lifted her eyes and saw him standing there amongst the dense branches of the hedge.

"Don?" She called quietly, her voice questioning and surprised.

"Aramis?" He replied, emerging from behind the hedge slightly to show more of his face. He saw her face break into a wide smile, conveying her happiness and relief to see him standing there. She jogged toward him, and he stepped out completely. She collided with him softly, throwing her arms around his neck.

"I'm so happy to see you," She said with her arms around him. Her voice was muffled slightly by the collar of his jacket, which was flush with her face, even though she was clearly standing on her tiptoes. He hugged her back with an intensity that surprised him, showing his own surprise and relief at her presence.

"What are you doing here?" He pulled away and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her over as though he could scarcely believe his eyes. He was smiling broadly, and she was glad to see the small crow's feet emerge as it reached his eyes.

"Field report." She said with a shrug, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, what we have to report. We're still synthesizing a lot of it." She corrected. She met his eyes again. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you." She said, bringing him into another hug. "I wasn't sure anyone was going to make it." He released her

"What, no confidence in your friends?" He joked. Her face fell, and she looked at him with confusion and skepticism. She was silent for a moment, regarding him carefully, as if she was trying to work out what she should or shouldn't say.

"You couldn't see it, Don." She said, her voice echoing sadness. "Normandy is littered with C47's, and most of them are occupied." His face fell, losing some of its humor.

"How many?" He asked quietly. She shrugged.

"We don't know yet. We're still trying to pull everything together. But it's a lot." They fell silent.

"Most of Easy made it." He offered. She sighed with relief, her shoulders dropping noticeably. She started walking, and he fell in step with her. They continued on in no particular direction, but Don was happy to be moving away from Brécourt Manor, reducing the risk of his superior officers catching wind that he had been drinking. "I just ate with Bill, Buck, Lip, Skip, Penkala, Toye, Luz, and Winters." He said, breaking the silence. Aramis nodded.

"I know." She said quietly. "I checked for your planes first." A soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "You should know…" She started. "Lieutenant Meehan's plane didn't make it back to England, so Winters will probably be your new C.O. We haven't been able to locate Meehan or anyone from his stick, so we don't think any of them survived." Don nodded.

"That's what we've been thinking, but everyone is afraid to say it." They were silent for a minute. He looked at her, her features woven into a hard expression. She was battling internally, deciding on what she should or shouldn't say. She sighed aloud and flexed her hands, taking her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought. She spoke.

"I probably shouldn't tell you this, but you'll find out soon enough anyway, so it probably doesn't matter." She broke the silence. "They're sending you south, further into France. I guess some of the other regiments are having a little more trouble securing their objectives than you did." Don sighed.

"We kind of expected that." He admitted.

"I know General Taylor promised you only three days and three nights, which was probably a solid estimation at the time. But I think you deserve to know, it's probably going to be a bit longer than that." He nodded as they walked, not responding. It was disappointing, but not entirely unexpected.

"Any idea how much longer?" He asked her. She shook her head apologetically. She stopped short and checked her watch, lifting the long sleeve of her shirt, the surface glinting as it caught the moonlight_._ Another sparkle caught his eye and he noticed a bracelet around her wrist that hadn't been there before. A thin circle of silver lay against her skin just above her watch, accentuated by tiny screws and even smaller diamonds. "Diamonds in a war zone, Boo?" He teased. She smiled.

"It's my identification bracelet. We all have them, but they let us choose what we wanted, as long as they wouldn't come off. Naturally, Howard sent me this." She pulled the bracelet away from her skin to show him the inside rim. "It has my unit code and number engraved on the inside." He let out a low whistle.

"Fancy stuff." He goaded. She rolled her eyes.

"We can't all walk around sporting dog tags." She said, tapping the pieces of metal that lay against his chest. They were silent for a moment, and she looked back at her watch. "I have to run. Lots more to do, and not a lot of time to do it." She shifted her attention back to him, her eyes looking into his. "Be safe, Don." She placed her hand on his arm. "Take care of yourself, and I'll see you on the other side." He smiled at her.

"You too, Boo." She chuckled and rolled her eyes. He pulled her into a hug.

"Tell the boys I say hi. And don't drink too much." She said with a wave, and she took off into a jog, heading toward the open field behind the manor that had just been liberated, and disappearing into the night.

* * *

It was just as Aramis had told him. General Taylor's promise of three days and three nights hadn't just been broken, it was apparent that it had been disregarded altogether. He sat there in a gulch that had been repurposed as a hybrid foxhole-trench, 7 days after they loaded themselves into their planes in Aldbourne, waiting for the Armored Divisions to get their shit together and come to their aid. Don wasn't entirely sure how they were expected to ward off the Wehrmacht's tigers with their M1's, mortars, and dwindling bazooka rounds, but Colonel Sink was adamant that they would try. Lieutenant Winters gave the order that they would attack at first light, filling each of them with anxiety and fear as they took their turns monitoring the line. When the Germans began firing their machine guns as the sun broke over the horizon, every man was ready. After Dog & Fox companies fled in the face of the oncoming Tigers, Don felt something stir inside of him, sharpening his senses and hardening his resolve. They would not lose ground, and each of them made damn sure of it. They fired off mortar rounds with incredible speed and deadly accuracy, reducing the approach of German Tanks and infantry almost to a standstill. They held there, defending their position until the 2nd Armored Division burst through the tree line, breaking the German offensive and laying their enemies to waste.

Don kept his eyes open for Aramis and Vaughn, hoping to catch another glimpse of them after their brief interaction at Brécourt. He knew she was out in the field, and he grew more and more concerned with each passing day that something awful had happened to her, especially given the incredible resistance to the invasion he had seen. His concerns were bolstered as Captain Nixon began to turn to Easy Company soldiers for patrols, utilizing them as a resource for gathering intelligence with ever increasing frequency.

They sat in the forest outside Carentan, looking over a farmhouse that appeared to be deserted, but was rumored to be a stronghold for German Snipers. He saw Winters and Nixon at the head of the column, crouched behind a large tree, looking at the farmhouse and discussing the best plan of action. He heard Winters call for a patrol, and Don sunk down behind the grass and branches that covered him a little more, trying to hide himself and keep from getting called as a "volunteer." He heard Guarnere's name and sighed with relief, as he, Liebgott and Hoobler stepped up to check out the farmhouse.

Don saw Captain Nixon step away from the front of the column, moving deeper into the forest and taking better cover from any potential danger. The rest of the company relaxed as the Patrol organized itself and moved out, and Don saw an opportunity that didn't present itself all that frequently. He moved as quietly as he could, avoiding the array of tree branches that littered the forest floor. He approached their intelligence officer as he rested casually against the branch of a felled tree, pulling a cigarette from the pack in his jacket pocket as he waited on the patrol.

"Captain Nixon sir?" Don said quietly, angling his arm up in salute. Nixon raised his eyes to Don as his lighter clicked on, the flame emerging and catching the tip of the cigarette between his lips. He flicked it closed as he rolled his eyes, saluting back weakly and with moderate disdain.

"What it is Malarkey?" He asked, not unkindly. Don was a little embarrassed. He had approached this situation with more impulsivity than thought, and he was now at a loss for how to word his question diplomatically. Captain Nixon was, after all, basically Aramis' older brother, and Don didn't want to give him the wrong impression.

"Just wondering, sir. Have you heard from Vaughn or Aramis? I saw them just after Brécourt, and I know that field reports are their specialty, but I haven't seen them since." Nixon smiled at him slyly, looking at the young Private with curiosity and intrigue. He exhaled, the smoke curling from his lips as he breathed.

"Why do you ask, Private?" He asked, ashing his cigarette to the forest floor.

"Just want to make sure everyone is okay, sir." He said, trying to mask his anxiety with a blasé attitude. Nixon smiled again, and laughed sardonically.

"She's just fine." He said, passively noting the relief that flooded Don's face at his usage of a female pronoun. "They got called down to do some reconnaissance work in the unoccupied territory." Don gave him a strange look, not quite understanding his reference. Nix took a drag of his cigarette. "That would be Vichy." He added. Don bobbed his head. "But yes, our friends are alive and well."

"Any idea when we'll see them again, sir?" Nixon ashed his cigarette again, his eyes falling to the ground as he drummed up an answer.

"That's where the 'Strategic' part of their name comes in, Malarkey. You just never really know. Hopefully it's soon, though. It would be nice to have more visibility on the German's movements without volunteering our own guys to try and figure it out. If I hear from her, I'll be sure to give you an update."

"Thank you, sir." Don responded graciously, not expecting the Captain's offer. Nixon waved at him.

"Carry on, Private." He said with a smirk.

Nixon watched Don walk away, the remnants of the sly smile on his face as he remembered his last communication from Aramis. It was a telegram explaining in greater detail why the 101st wouldn't be receiving much support from their Secret Intelligence partners for the next few weeks. He shuddered at the memory, happier than ever to abide her ever-present request to burn it after reading. He heard footsteps approaching, and he recognized the gait of his friend Dick Winters before he saw him.

"Reconnaissance work in the unoccupied territory, huh?" Nix heard him ask. He turned around to look at his friend, his face falling neutral. He nodded his head and took another drag of his cigarette.

"Yup. Pretty nasty business." He responded. Dick came up next to him and leaned on the tree branch, pulling his canteen from his belt and taking a long drink.

"How so?" He asked, slightly out of breath from his drink. Nixon sighed, and looked at the ground. He didn't want to talk about what Aramis was doing any more than he wanted Aramis doing it, and he regretted inviting the conversation to begin with. He took another drag of his cigarette, and spoke as he exhaled, a thick cloud of smoke accompanying his words.

"Apparently one of the regiments from the 2nd SS Panzer division went into a small village in the Haute-Vienne and razed it to the ground." Dick whipped his head towards Nixon quickly, not quite believing what he had just heard.

"What?" Dick exclaimed. Nixon's eyebrows rose, and his lip curled, bobbing his head sadly, affirming that he had spoken correctly.

"Killed every single person in the village indiscriminately." Nix said, his voice a little too casual for the matter at hand. "I guess one of her operatives was in the village at the time. Or they had a network there. I'm not sure. But that's where they went, to try and make sense of the situation. I just hope they get back soon."

"Yeah, you and me both Lew." Winters commiserated. They sat there in silence, their thinly veiled anxiety consuming them as they waited for any sound of the patrol. Their eyes at the ground, both men prayed for safe return, both of their men and of the Intelligence Operatives who had shown themselves to be invaluable in the first stages of their involvement in the war against Hitler.

* * *

The truck stopped just outside the village. They could see the plumes of smoke rising into the air a few miles before they arrived, the scorched earth still burning from the fires of its invaders. There was an ominous feeling of death that hung in the air, such that can only be found in a place of great tragedy. The area had been cleared, with all neighboring townspeople and surviving residents in detention to give Vaughn and his team the ability to survey the town unimpeded and unseen.

Aramis stepped from the passenger side of the vehicle slowly, not quite able to believe her eyes. Vaughn rounded the front of the car from the driver's seat, his expression stony and firm, and his jaw tense with anger. Diana and Esther were right behind her, and they stood silent for a few moments as they surveyed the scene before them.

"Let's get to work." Vaughn's gravelly voice broke through the silence. He started into the town slowly, his movements cautious and careful. Aramis followed behind him, with Diana and Esther in her wake and they started down the path that led deeper into the village of Oradour-sur-Glane.

There was gray smoke everywhere, burning her eyes and causing her to choke. She heard the distinct squeak of metal on metal, and she saw a charred bicycle next to the path, the raised wheel spinning slowly in eerie perpetuity. They turned onto one of the main roadways, coming off the pathway and into a more central part of what was left of the village. Bricks were strewn everywhere, covered in thick layers of black and gray ash. Buildings and houses were collapsed and falling from their foundations, the singed wood crumbling under its own weight. Broken glass littered the ground, crunching under their feet as they continued their slow progression inward. There was a car on the left side of the street, the fire still burning under the hood, sending off large plumes of thick black smoke as the flames consumed the oil. They saw spatters of dried blood on the brick walls that were still standing, their trails leading them through the dirt and into the grass, leading up a hill and toward the burned and smoking remnants of a large structure.

It was deathly quiet, the only sounds coming from the fire and their footsteps. No one spoke as they moved forward, too horrified by what they saw to attempt to communicate. They continued town the main road, and came upon the Hotel de Ville in the town square. There was more blood spatter across the front of the building, covering the warm brick with a thick, dark, rust that spoke of unfathomable cruelty. Esther broke from the group and entered the town hall, treading carefully as she passed over the threshold. Vaughn followed another trail of blood that converged with the first they had seen, following it into the grass and up to what appeared to be a badly burned barn. Aramis and Diana continued through the town, passing more crumbling buildings and blown out windows as they walked.

Aramis saw a church ahead of her, the round column where the steeple should have been jutting into the sky against the trees. She saw smoke coming from a cross shaped window, and her breath hitched slightly as she wondered what it could have meant. As she drew nearer, she saw the indentations in the building's façade, the small pockmarks in the stone where the bullets of a machine gun assaulted the structure. She neared the steps leading up to the main entrance of the church, taking notice of the increase in the amount of bullet holes as she moved closer to the doors. The heavy wood was barely clinging to its support hinges, threatening to fall to the ground any second.

Diana had stopped behind her, standing in the gravel just below the stone steps. Aramis approached slowly, out of caution and fear. She was afraid, not of impending danger, but of what she might see beyond those doors that could not be unseen. She paused in front of the heavy wood, feeling the heat emanating from behind it. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, biting back her fear, and pushed the door open.

A plume of smoke rushed into her face, and she threw her arms up to protect herself. It was thick, and dark, and smelled acrid and sour. She coughed, choking as she tried to wave it away. Diana rushed forward, her concern for her friend overriding her fear of what lay ahead. As the smoke cleared, Aramis opened her eyes and lowered her arms, losing her breath entirely as she stared ahead.

They were everywhere, against the walls, lying over the floor, strewn across what was left of pews. The badly burned bodies were almost innumerable, still smoking from the fires that took their lives. Aramis gasped aloud and clapped her hand over her mouth, trying to halt the scream that threatened to erupt from her throat. She stood there, frozen and unmoving, breathing harshly as the tragic scene unveiled itself before her eyes. The wind blew softly through the opened doors, rustling burned bible pages from their resting places on the floor and causing a curtain of ash to move over the stone. They varied in sizes and positions, some lying haphazardly across the smoking pews, others in crouched positions, their charred bones overlapping one another, as if they had been in an embrace when they met their end.

"Oh god." She whispered behind her hand. Diana was next to her, crouching near one of the bodies that lay closest to the door.

"These were women." She whispered sadly, holding a strip of charred floral fabric belonging to a dress.

"And children." Aramis responded. She tried to refocus herself, remembering why they had come to the place of this inexplicable tragedy. She searched the inside of the church, her eyes settling on something in the center. She walked forward slowly, careful not to disturb the dead. She pointed at the ground before her, bending over to examine the object of her attention.

"The fire started here." She said quietly, trying to allow her analysis to overcome her overwhelming sadness. She pointed up to one of the windows. "It must have been a grenade or a mine of some kind. They shot it through that window, and the explosion started the fire." She turned 360 degrees, surveying the area around her. "Those who survived the explosion made for the windows to try to escape the flames."

"But they were outside waiting for them." Diana added. Aramis nodded sadly.

"They gunned them down as they tried to escape, that's why there was a higher concentration of bullets nearest the door." Aramis moved further into the church as she noticed something else. "They came back in." She said, noting footprints that were too large to be hers or Diana's. She bent down and examined something, bringing ash between her fingers and rubbing it. "This is wood ash, but it's not from the pews…" She examined the pattern. She exhaled a shaky breath. "They…" She stopped, biting back the wave of emotion. "They brought in wood. And set another fire."

Diana had tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Why would they do this?"

"Is there a good answer to that question?" Aramis countered.

They heard footsteps scraping over the stone behind them. They turned to see Vaughn enter the church, and watched as his face unraveled from its normal, stony expression to one of horrified awe.

"Jesus Christ…" He breathed, running his hands over his face as he took everything in. Diana's nostrils flared, and she stood up, her eyes locked on their leader.

"They were women, Vaughn." She said to him, her face drawn. "Women and children." He didn't speak. Diana could see the anger in Aramis' face as she spoke. He looked over the church, examining every inch. "This was our responsibility." She said tersely. Vaughn closed his eyes. "We are responsible for keeping these people out of harm's way. They weren't even with the resistance!" she threw the piece of charred wood she was holding at the ground, and it shattered to pieces and a cloud of ash as it collided with the stone. "What credibility do we have now?" She demanded. "We can't even protect civilians from the Germans. How are we going to protect our assets?"

"We can protect them, Diana." Vaughn said carefully.

"Look around you, Vaughn! This is the result of one operative who got lazy and who got caught! What happens when someone slips up with information that concerns and entire network? What then?"

"That isn't going to happen." He replied.

"You don't know that! None of us can know that! We can risk our own lives, it's our right and our prerogative, but we have no right to risk those of others. These were mothers, and sisters, and brothers, and wives, and daughters and sons. These were normal people, Vaughn!"

"Diana." Aramis interjected loudly. Vaughn and Diana snapped their heads toward the woman standing in the center of the church. "That's enough. We are all culpable here. We all knew Rose shouldn't have gone on this mission. But she did. And turning on one another won't make swallowing that pill any easier. We need to understand what happened here so it will never happen again." She approached Diana, meeting her eyes. "The SS will pay for this Diana, I promise you that. But we have to focus." Diana was shaking. "Okay?" She asked. Diana closed her eyes and nodded.

She heard Vaughn clear his throat, and she turned her attention to him, her arm resting on Diana's shoulder as she tried to soothe her friend.

"I found something else." He said softly. Aramis looked at him carefully, praying he wouldn't have news of more tragedy.

"The barn we saw on our way in." He stated. Both Diana and Aramis nodded in affirmation. "I went to see what was there." He paused and took a deep breath. "I found more bodies. Lots of them, almost as many as there are here. They were badly burned, but they were also shot. Most of them in the legs. The whole structure reeked of gasoline, and all of the men had chemical burns on their skin and clothing." Aramis' breathing was discordant and staggered, barely containing her rage as Vaughn spoke. "It looks like they shot at them first, to immobilize them. Or to torture them. I can deduce that they then poured gasoline over them and set the barn on fire, burning them while they were still alive. I haven't been able to find any evidence of Rose."

"Neither can I." A voice spoke from behind him. They turned and saw Esther enter the church, her face stony, and her eyes hard. She was better at hiding her emotions than almost anyone else in their unit, looking at things with an almost callous rationale, with no visible effects to her demeanor. Her breath left her as she saw the scene of the church, and Aramis noticed that her eyes stayed closed a little longer than normal as she blinked. "The rest of the village is bare. Any and all valuables have either been taken or destroyed." She said, her voice cracking slightly as she spoke, unable to tear her eyes away from the church. "But I couldn't find any sign of her." Vaughn sighed and closed his eyes, his head moving back and forth.

Aramis continued to look over the church, noting the patterns of the char over the stone walls, indicating where the fire had burned and raged inside the small space. She did a double take as something glinted and caught her eye. She stepped forward to examine it, her heart dropping to her stomach as she prayed she was wrong. In the corner, on the right hand side of the church and closest to the door, a lone figure sat, curled into itself. The body was badly burned, the flesh charred and smoking. She was in a fetal position, laying across the floor with her knees drawn into her chest, head dipped forward, and arms extended outward, as if she had been trying to escape the flames that engulfed her. Aramis looked to her wrist and saw it again, the glint of light. She recognized the woven band, caked in a thick layer of black carbon char, and the diamonds that accentuated the points, their perfect cut and clarity catching the light like a beacon. Aramis dropped her head and shut her eyes, exhaling a slow and jagged breath she didn't remember holding. She heard Vaughn call her name, and he was behind her in an instant. She heard him speak, but she didn't register the words, and she barely noticed as he bent down to examine the woman lying in front of her. She heard Esther say something unintelligible, and felt Diana's hand on her shoulder as she watched Vaughn, desperately hoping he would tell her she was wrong, and it was just some kind of sick coincidence. She saw his head drop and his shoulders sag, and she knew her first instinct had been right.

Diana dropped to her knees and placed her hands over her eyes, her emotions overwhelming her. Her body was shaking vigorously, and an anguished sob ripped from her throat. Vaughn watched her fall, barely holding his own composure. Aramis' lip began to shake, and she felt a tear tumble from her brimming eyes. Esther was silent and unmoving, clutching her hands in front of her face so tightly her knuckles had blanched completely and her fingers were turning an eerie shade of red.

"It's her." Vaughn whispered, breaking the silence. "It's Rose." He touched the bracelet that was her Identification Band, the uniquely beautiful Tiffany & Co. band that bore the inscription of her Unit's number and code on the inside marred by ash. He rose slowly, never taking his eyes off of his operative. He cleared his throat and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, as was his habit when trying to refocus himself. "We need to get her moved and her tracks covered. An official cleanup team should be arriving soon. Esther, you stay here and gather as much information as you can as to what happened here. Take pictures and document all of it. Bruce and Donovan will want to know about this. Diana, you head to the edge of town and guide the team here. They'll take care of Rose's body. Aramis, you come with me to scout the rest of the village. We need to get as much as we can as quickly as we can. The civilian detention expires in a few hours, and we need to be out of here and as far away as possible when that happens." His voice was soft and commanding, focusing on the task at hand to distract himself from the immense tragedy. Diana stood, her cheeks glistening with tears. He looked at each of them in the eye for affirmation that they understood their orders and strode out of the church, Aramis following behind him and trying to keep up with his gait.

She looked at him, filled with concern. This was impacting him far more than he was letting on. His jaw was clenched, and she could see one of the veins in his neck expanding, pressing against his skin as his anger amassed. His fists were balled tightly, his elbows pressing into his sides, making his body stiff and rigid. His nostrils were flared, and he was breathing through his nose at irregular and disjointed intervals. He cared for each of them immensely, and felt a deep obligation to their safety and welfare that went far beyond operative and commander. They were his charges, his to care for, and his responsibility, and the loss of one of his own was devastating.

They collected the rest of the intel they needed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts and focus. Rose's body was collected by the team from the Home Office in Berne, the space where she lay covered inconspicuously to eliminate any suspicion of her removal. It was as if she had never been there, never entering the sleepy town in the Haute-Vienne, right on the border of Vichy and Occupied France. It was as though the Panzer division had never traced her movements there after she failed at tricking SS-Standartenfuhrer Sylvester Stadler into giving her information, never giving him cause to mobilize Sturmbannfuhrer Adolf Diekmann's battalion in an effort to track her down. It blurred the lines of logic for the cruelty the Germans had shown to these people, leaving them without a plausible explanation for why they commit such a heinous crime. It took away their excuses and reason for the atrocity of entering a town, in a country they had conquered, in a region where the regime was under their control, and killing every single person in it. They had no pretext for shooting to immobilize, firing machine guns at the legs of 190 innocent Frenchmen whose only crime was living in Oradour-sur-Glane, before covering them in gasoline and setting them on fire, burning them alive. They had no justification for locking 247 women and 205 children in the church, firing an incendiary device through the window, and watching as the house of worship burned around them, firing their machine guns and rifles at any who attempted to escape the flames. There was no cause they could provide for entering the still smoking church, walking over the badly burned victims, many of whom were clutching at their children in attempt to protect them, and setting another fire with wood and fuel, manually completing the devastation where their grenades and artillery had failed.

Vaughn and his team ensured that the 2nd SS Panzer Division, codenamed "Das Reich," would be painted for the monsters they were. For even if the world knew that a single intelligence operative, acting with the full permission of the Office of Strategic Services, had engaged in her mission with Stadler and botched it, there was nothing that any German, Nazi or not, could say that would give any measure of validation to the actions of "Das Reich" that day. The indiscriminate massacre of all 642 inhabitants of the town of Oradour-sur-Glane was nothing short of a crime against humanity. None of them had any ties to resistance networks, military groups, or political entities. They were mothers, shopkeepers, fathers, doctors, students, repairmen, farmers, wives, brothers, sisters, children, civilians, living their lives in relative peace amidst the war that raged around them.

Aramis took one final look at the desecrated French town as she sat in the passenger side of their vehicle. She was a practical person, and as a scientist she valued tangible evidence above speculative theory. Before her involvement with the O.S.S., and even as she began to serve the allies in their effort, she understood that this war wasn't entirely one-sided, and there was a great deal of culpability resting on the shoulders of the allied powers which were once again rallying against their old foe. But as she sat there, on the edge of Oradour-sur-Glane with the images of the massacre's aftermath playing like a twisted slideshow inside of her head, she lost her sympathy for the other side. People, normal people, with fully functioning brains, or emotions, or any measure humanity would never be able to do this. These were not human beings. They were sociopaths, drunk on visions of their own superiority. A fire started to burn inside of her, and any regret or misgivings she had over the men she had killed on her missions in Normandy was consumed by it. Her anger scared her, and she barely registered Vaughn's voice as he spoke to her. The engine of the truck was rumbling, and he shifted it into gear. She felt his touch on her arm, and she turned to look at him. His face mirrored hers, vengeful anger peppered with overwhelming grief and fear. Neither said a word, their faces conveying everything they could have possibly wanted to say. Vaughn pressed his foot on the gas pedal, urging the truck forward and taking them away from what would become an enduring memorial of the Nazi's cruelty.

* * *

**End Note:**

I think it's worth noting that Oradour-sur-Glane is not a product of my imagination. Everything I described is historically accurate (minus the involvement of the O.S.S. of course), from the location of the town to the names of the Nazi's that were the perpetrators. In my opinion, it's one of the most horrific war-crimes to have occurred in Europe during the Second World War. I was surprised that I hadn't learned about it in ANY of my history classes throughout high school or University, and I minored in History, which I think is another tragedy. I visited the remnants of the town, which Charles de Gaulle declared as a memorial after the war and has left it exactly as it was when the Nazis left, and it was one of the most incredible experiences I've ever had. I've been trying to think of a way to incorporate it into some form of writing ever since, and I was very happy to have finally found one.

As always, I'd love to hear from you. Most of you have been quite silent, but I always appreciate feedback. Thanks.


	6. Caught in the Tide

**Authors Note:** I don't own Band of Brothers, or anything in the Marvel Universe. I own my original fictional characters. I'm not making any money on this. End due diligence.

* * *

**All We Cannot See**

**Chapter 6: Caught in the Tide**

It was the perfect weekend to get away from the base and escape into normal civilization for a few days, and Don couldn't have been more excited. The British Wireless said the weather forecast was supposed to be in the low 30's Celsius, which Don learned meant the high 80's to the low 90's Fahrenheit. Unusually warm for Britain, and absolutely perfect beach weather. Alton Moore, his usual beach get away partner, had lost his pass the weekend prior after coming to the aid of Bill Guarnere and Babe Heffron in a bar brawl with some mouthy Air Force boys, so Don was being joined on his excursion by Chuck Grant.

They set out early Friday morning; fortunate enough to secure a 3-day weekend pass from Colonel Sink for good behavior. In order to maximize their beach time, Don decided to let Chuck drive as he was the better navigator, and they both knew they would get there faster. Don was happy to relax in the sidecar, watching the beautiful greenery of the English countryside pass him by.

They had decided to visit Bournemouth this trip, as it was a straight shot down the newly constructed A338 freeway, and would maximize their leisure and fraternization time. Don could feel the change in the air as they neared the sea, taking on a slightly more salty taste and a heavier feel. It reminded him of home, breathing in the crisp air of the Pacific Ocean as it flowed into the Columbia River. It sent a small pang of homesickness through his heart, which was quickly dispelled as they pulled into the beachside community of Bournemouth.

Due to recent and more frequent air raids, the Southern Coast of England was lacking for population density, as several residents, both full time and seasonal, had opted to go further north to escape the Luftwaffe bombings. That said, Bournemouth was relatively untouched due to its location due Southwest of London, which reduced the likelihood of German aircrafts coming near its airspace. There were several families milling about, and it took them more than a few tries to find a place that was relatively close to the beach where they would be able to leave their motorcycle for a few hours. They finally decided on a location a few streets away from the beach, and in a nice enough part of town that theft wouldn't be a concern. They unloaded their things, and set out down the street, ready to soak in the sun, and bask in the glow of their planned relaxation.

They were chatting animatedly, joking with one another about how much nicer this climate was compared to the Pacific Northwest, when Don ran headfirst into someone as he turned the corner. He stumbled back a few paces and looked down, seeking a few wrapped packages strewn over the sidewalk.

"Oh, Jesu-Lord. I'm so sorry. Are you alright?" He bent down to pick them up, and stood to face the person with whom he had collided.

"You need to clean up that language, Malarkey. What would your mother say?"

"Aramis?" He said with surprise. "What the..? Hey!" Her smirk turned to a smile. She set down her shopping bags and opened her arms.

"It's great to see you!" She exclaimed, pulling him into a hug. They exchanged greetings with one another; Chuck and Diana's hug lasting longer than the others.

"We have to stop running into each other like this." Don joked. Aramis smirked again.

"I think you just need to watch where you're going." She jibed back.

"Yeah, Don." Diana chimed in. "What was it that Vaughn always said? Constant Vigilance?" They laughed, sharing in the joy of poking fun at their sometimes-overbearing stealth trainer. "What are you boys doing down here?" She asked.

"Same thing as you, it seems. Just escaping the base for the weekend. Trying to interact with normal humans." Chuck responded. Diana smiled.

"Are you planning on going to the beach?" Aramis asked.

"Why else does one come to the beaches of Southern England?" Don replied, his tone typically sarcastic and snarky. Aramis rolled her eyes.

"Join us!" Diana suggested enthusiastically. Aramis nodded in agreement.

"Yes! Please!" She held up the shopping bags they were carrying. "Diana got a little excited in the shops, and we have way too much food. You haven't eaten lunch, I hope?" They shook their heads.

"No ma'am." Chuck said. "We just got here."

"Wonderful." Diana said. "Then it's decided. You'll come to the beach with us. It will be lovely. The car is this way." Don and Chuck looked confused as Aramis and Diana strode down the street.

"Car? Isn't the beach this way?" Chuck pointed toward the ocean.

"Not our beach." Diana said over her shoulder as she walked, looking at him over her sunglasses and passing him a wink. The boys shrugged and followed, Chuck taking the bags Diana was holding from her hands as he caught up with her, and Don doing the same.

Aramis approached a maroon Ford Special Deluxe Convertible and inserted the key into the trunk lock. The men exchanged an impressed glance and set the groceries in the back, on top of several beach chairs and towels.

"Looks like you ladies know what you're doing." Chuck said with a smile. Aramis looked back to him.

"Oh, I can't take credit for any of it. The concierge filled the car for us this morning. I'm the worst at packing." Diana nodded in agreement as she slid into the backseat on the driver's side.

"Ain't that the truth." Diana said. Aramis slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, throwing a side eye at Diana.

"Everybody ready?" She received a chorus of "Yes" and "yup" in response. "Fabulous." She put the car in gear and checked her blind spot. The street was empty. "Off we go!" She hit the gas pedal, and they sped off onto the road, wind blowing their hair and the sunshine on their faces.

The ocean air was refreshing and clean as it rushed past them, and Don couldn't remember a time in his life where he was happier or more at peace. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, languishing in the feeling of warmth as the sun shone up above them. He stuck his arm out of the car, feeling the resistance push against it as they continued on their journey toward this secretive beach Aramis and Diana had alluded to. He smiled and took a deep breath, relaxing into the leather seat. He looked out from his position in the passenger seat and took in his view. The road had taken them away from the beaches and onto higher ground, edging along the cliffs that lined the waterfront of England's Southern coast. The waves rolled in lazily as Seagulls dove in and out of the jet stream, and he smiled when he saw a few fishing boats tugging along slowly as the current pulled them along.

He turned his gaze to their driver. The wind blew her hair around her face in long, looping spirals, glinting with flecks of gold and copper amidst the deep chocolate hue in the sun. A small smile played over her lips as she watched the road, and though her dark aviator sunglasses shielded her eyes, he could tell it was genuine and sincere. She was dressed casually in a loosely fitting white cotton dress that billowed in the wind. She turned her attention to him as she held the steering wheel with the casual confidence that was so uniquely hers, her smile widening as she spoke.

"This is my favorite beach." She yelled over the wind. "It's very secluded and private. I don't think I've ever seen more than once family here." She turned her gaze back to the road.

"How many times have you been here?" He asked curiously. She smiled and looked back at him.

"My father used to do a lot of business in London. I spent quite a few summers here before and after college." She said matter-of-factly. He nodded and looked back out over the ocean. Aramis checked her rearview mirror and smiled again. She caught a glimpse of their companions. Chuck had his arm over the headrests of the backseat, resting casually on the quilted leather between the attachment for the roof and Diana's back. Both were looking away from one another, taking in their respective views from their side of the vehicle. Aramis smiled a little wider when she caught Diana scooting her body just a little closer to the sandy-haired paratrooper next to her, her lips arching coyly as she moved.

They pulled off the highway onto a small road that they likely would have missed if they hadn't been with someone who knew where she was going. It led them into an opening between the cliffs and toward the waterfront. They continued for a few moments before Aramis pulled the car to a halt on a patch of grass just off the pavement, in a small alcove between the jutting rock walls and facing a small and extremely private beach. She pulled herself from the driver's seat, leaving the key in the ignition, and moved toward the trunk to start unloading their things.

They set up their blankets and beach chairs, laying out the picnic while chatting happily. Aramis took a few moments to squish the sand between her toes, relishing the nostalgic feeling it gave her as she felt the damp, cool granules rub against her skin. She pulled the cotton shift over her head, eager to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, and she caught the subtle glances of both Don and Chuck as Diana did the same. She shook her hair out, running her fingers through her curls to remove some of the tangles from the drive and threw her dress on one of the blankets. She stood there in her simple maillot, the understated floral pattern against a pale yellow background complementing her skin tone perfectly. She placed her sunglasses over her eyes and bent down toward their ice bag.

"Wine anyone?" She smiled as they accepted, uncorking the last of the Carlton's French rose with glee, indescribably happy to be able to share these moments with those who deserved nothing less. They sat on the blanket, their feet in the sand, sipping wine and munching on the fruit and cheese the girls had picked up from the shops, enjoying each other's company and the sunshine of the gorgeous English Day.

There was a small lull in the conversation, and Don stood suddenly. He reached for his bag and pulled out a tattered old football he had somehow managed to find on the base. His friends gave him a strange look.

"Well come on, you guys. We didn't come here to just sit around!" Chuck stood from the blanket and opened his arms, asking for the ball. Don pointed down the beach, and stepped back. Chuck started to jog, and Don lobbed the ball, landing perfectly in Chuck's waiting hands. Aramis scoffed and stood.

"What kind of throw was that, Malarkey?" Diana said as she stood, dusting the sand off of her behind. He looked at her skeptically.

"What are you, some kind of football professional?" Chuck asked her jokingly. She looked at him through narrowed eyes and tilted her head.

"Considering that my older brother was one of the star quarterbacks at USC, and was the starting quarterback for the New York Giants before he joined the war, yeah. I'd say I know a little bit about football." She walked up and took the ball from his hands. They heard Aramis chuckle as she stood.

"Yeah, I'd be very careful on the subject of football around her." She said walking to where they were standing. "She could probably outplay you." She smiled as Diana tossed her the ball. She caught it confidently between her hands.

"Let's find out." Diana challenged. Don cocked his eyebrow and looked at them.

"Do you girls really think you can handle this?" Don replied jokingly. Aramis scoffed and rolled her eyes, tossing her sunglasses on the blanket and placing her elbow on Chuck's shoulder. She placed her hand on her jutted hip and looked at him with pursed lips.

"I hope you're ready to be taken to school by Grant and I." she challenged. He looked at her and laughed, tilting his head back and looking at the sky. He high fived her and looked at Diana and Don.

"You know I'm in better shape than you." She said, looking at Chuck with feigned menace. He laughed again, Aramis joining him.

"Now THAT sounds like a challenge." He said, looking at her. Don smiled and started to call out the set-up for the game. They chose markers for goal lines and played rock paper scissors to determine who would have the ball first, running and jumping through the sand in a joyful competition.

"Jesus, Stark." Don exclaimed between gasps of breath as he slowed to a walk. She had sprinted past him, across the goal line and jumped into the air to catch a pass from Chuck. Her breathing was quick, but not nearly as much as his. She was beaming at him, her rows of perfect white teeth shining behind her rose tinted lips. "Where did you learn to do all of this?" He asked as he recovered his breath.

"I grew up with Howard and Nixon, Malark. You pick up on stuff pretty quickly." She winked and tossed him the ball, landing perfectly in his outstretched palms. "It's 2-1 team Aramis and Chuck, by my count. You two better pull it together. We wouldn't want to embarrass you too badly." She jogged back to her side of the line of scrimmage, high fiving chuck and crouching into a ready position next to him. Don pursed his lips and approached Diana. He bowed his head toward her and whispered into her ear.

"Alright, D. Fake pass, then take off. Go long, and I'll throw it to you." She smiled and nodded.

"Easy as cake." She said with a wink. They broke away from each other and approached the line, facing off against their friends. He calls for the "snap," which entailed the person with the ball picking it up off the ground and backing up a few paces. Diana ran behind him and reached for the ball, her fingers grazing over it as she passed him and sprinted up the beach. Chuck made his way toward Don to try and block him. He called out to Aramis when he saw the development of the play.

"Stark!" He yelled. Diana was sprinting, and it was clear there wasn't a ball in her hands. She ran at Don to try and block him from throwing the ball as Chuck sprinted, trying to catch up with Diana who was rapidly approaching the end zone. Aramis stood in front of Don, waving her arms and trying to stop him from throwing the ball. He chuckled at her attempts, and took advantage of his height, arcing the ball up and over her head, and straight into Diana's outstretched hands. He cheered loudly, throwing his arms up in the air triumphantly. Aramis laughed aloud and relaxed, stopping in the sand to catch her breath. Chuck caught up to Diana, who was standing there holding the ball with a smirk of pride across her face.

"Told you I was in better shape than you." She teased. She threw the ball at him gently, the point hitting him in the chest as it bounced into his hands. He scoffed and dropped the ball into the sand.

"That's it." He said, bending his knees and throwing his shoulder forward. He threw his arms around her legs and scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder. She laughed out loud, kicking softly and struggling lightly.

"Put me down, Grant!" She yelled between laughs. She curled her knees around his arm trying to steady herself as he gripped her tightly. His face set itself into a smile.

"Nope." He replied. He turned and started jogging toward the water as she bounced on his shoulder. She was laughing and screaming, her long hair bouncing around her and tickling the skin of his back.

"Chuck!" She screamed. "Chuck, No!" She screamed between laughs. He was walking into the waves, splashing through the water at a brisk pace. "Noooo!" She screamed again as he dove forward, catching himself in another wave and bringing them both into the surf, their heads disappearing between the beautiful blue water of the Atlantic.

Aramis and Don were standing on the beach watching them, laughing and pointing as the paratrooper dragged the intelligence officer "unwillingly" into the ocean. Her hands were on her hips, and she could feel his eyes on her. She threw him a glance from her periphery, arching her eyebrow and pursing her lips. She cast her gaze back on their friends who were emerging from the waves, laughing and sputtering.

"Don't. Even. Think. About it." She said sternly, keeping her eyes forward. Don laughed aloud, throwing his head back and closing his eyes as it echoed off the cliffs behind them. Diana and Chuck emerged from the water, teasing each other and wringing the water from their bodies as they stepped through the sand. They spent the rest of the afternoon in the beach chairs, soaking in the rays of the sun and relaxing, forgetting their cares and enjoying the break they so desperately needed.

The sun started to dip lower in the sky, bringing a chill to the air as the ocean breeze picked up and fell against the cliffs. Aramis surveyed her friends on either side of her. Diana was at her immediate left, her eyes closed as her body relaxed against the soft canvas of the chair underneath her, her foot inconspicuously touching Chuck's underneath the sand. Aramis smiled softly, she knew they had liked one another from the moment they met, and watching them express it in the subtlest of ways was amusing and whimsical. Don lay across one of the blankets, his arms behind his head, clearly enjoying the feeling of the sun on his skin. She saw Diana lift her head and look forward.

"I'm starving." She complained. As if on cue, her stomach let loose a low growl, causing the group to erupt in laughter, breaking the companionable silence in which they had found themselves. "I can't eat another bite of cheese." She added, as if anticipating Aramis' comment. They decided it was high time to call it a day, as Aramis admitted she was getting a little cold, and Don clearly needed to get out of the sun as his Irish skin was starting to take on a pinkish hue that only meant a sunburn was well on its way. They packed up their belongings and put them in the trunk of the car, piling in and setting off toward the town of Bournemouth.

Aramis sat quietly behind the steering wheel, guiding the convertible down the winding road at a slower pace than their initial journey. She looked to Don at her right and Chuck in the rearview mirror.

"Any interest in joining us for dinner at the Carlton?" She asked, bringing her eyes back to the road. "They have a great dining room.

"Aramis, you have to stop funding all of our gallivanting and excursions. I feel like I'm starting to take advantage." Don replied, leaning against the door. She waved him off, dismissing his concern.

"Please." She said, rolling her eyes. "My father would disown me if he knew I was spending time with you and didn't put all your meals on his expense account. Besides, you should be saving the money you're making for your futures, not spending it." Chuck and Don gave her a strange look, prompting her to sigh with exasperation and explain further. "You risk your lives for the United States and its allies every day, and you've done so willingly. You've paid enough." She said with finality. "Where are you staying? We'll drop you."

"The Bournemouth Inn." Chuck replied, leaning forward so she could hear him more clearly. Diana made a sour face that Aramis mirrored.

"No." Diana said immediately. "That's basically a halfway house." Aramis shook her head from the front seat.

"You'll stay in Howard's apartment. He's in Italy and won't be using it." She said authoritatively, not leaving much room for question or disapproval.

"What?" Don asked, not quite understanding her meaning.

"Howard has a unit separate from my father's at the Carlton. You'll stay there. I would never forgive myself if you lived through D-Day and then died because you were stabbed by some drunken criminal at a shitty hotel." She said, keeping her eyes forward.

"Aramis, we couldn't." Chuck objected.

"I won't hear another word of protest. If you're concerned about figures, it doesn't cost anything. Howard owns it, and can use it as he pleases. Think of it as staying with a friend." Don turned around to look at his friend, each seeking approval and guidance from the other. "I'm serious. I'm not taking you back to the Bournemouth Inn." Aramis threatened. Diana put her hand on Chuck's shoulder.

"Chuck, just stay. It's not an imposition, and we'd be honored to have you." She said gently. He sighed.

"What the hell?" he shrugged, caving. Aramis grinned as she watched the road. Don turned around, facing forward once more. He looked to Aramis.

"Thank you, Boo." He said genuinely. Her grin widened into a smile.

"Don't thank me." She turned to face him. "You've more than earned it." They entered the town center of Bournemouth and pulled up to the front of the hotel, passing the car off to one of the valets. They entered the lush lobby, surrounded by marble and gilded finery. They approached the front desk, where a gentleman stood with a smile, which widened when he recognized Aramis.

"Good afternoon, Miss Stark! How was the beach?" He asked cheerily.

"It was lovely as always George, thank you. Would you mind if I asked you a favor?"

"Not at all, Miss Stark. What can I do for you?"

"My dear friends here are paratroopers who are on leave for the weekend. They were staying at the Bournemouth Inn…" The man known as George made the same sour face that Aramis and Diana had donned at the mention of it. "I know. So you understand that I simply can't allow that."

"Absolutely not." He said fervently.

"Howard is in Italy, so I've offered his apartment to them for the weekend. May I have the key please?" He nodded.

"Absolutely. Let me retrieve it for you." He disappeared behind one of the gold plated doors, and emerged a few minutes later with a large key in his hand.

"Here you are, Miss Stark. Would your guests also like to schedule turn-down and coffee service?" She looked back at the boys and stared at them for a moment. A smirk crossed her lips, and she turned back to George.

"I think they'll keep a similar schedule to Howard." He bobbed his head, as if affirming some private joke that only they were privy to.

"Aha. Of course. Will they also be needing dinner attire?" She nodded.

"We'll be dining in the salon tonight. They're about Howard's size. Would you mind amending our reservation for 4 instead of 2 please?"

"We kept your standing family reservation, Miss Stark. There is no need to make any amendments." She smiled.

"Thank you, George. You're a gem, as always." She winked at him.

"Also, miss Stark, there was a telegram delivered for you this afternoon. I took the liberty of having it sent to your apartments."

"Thank you." George looked to Don and Chuck.

"Gentleman, if you'll be so kind as to leave your bags here, I'll have the bellman take them up." They both look surprised.

"I don't think that's necessary…" Don started. Aramis smells his bag and immediately pulled away with disgust

"Ugh. Yes it is. George, would you please have these cleaned?" Don shot her a menacing glare. "What? Do you really think Nix would forgive me if I let you come back from a holiday smelling like that? Besides, you're on vacation. Let George handle the particulars." Don looked at George, whose face seemed so eager and willing to please he almost looked like a puppy. "Chill out, Malarkey." She added. Chuck laughed aloud and handed his bag to the waiting attendant. "Thank you so much, George." She said sweetly, before walking off into the lobby, with Diana, Chuck and Don trailing in the wake of her brisk pace. They entered the elevator, and Aramis pressed the button at the very top that said nothing other than "A."

"What does the A stand for?" Chuck asked.

"Apartments." Diana replied. Aramis handed the key to Don as the elevator ascended.

"It's #3. We're in #6 just across the hall. Dinner is at 8:00 Sharp. They should be up soon to fit you."

"Who should be?"" Chuck asked. Aramis giggled.

"Just answer the door when the bell rings and go with the flow." They stepped off the elevator and entered their separate apartments. "See you downstairs boys." She said with a wink before pushing open the door, ushering Diana in and closing it behind her.

They arrived in the salon at 8:00 sharp. As Aramis had indicated, 2 tailors knocked on their door an hour or so after they arrived, fitting them with "proper" dinner attire, including black coats with tails, crisp white linen shirts, bow-ties, and black pants with black shoes. They were both incredibly uncomfortable, but the tailors were consummate professionals, and put them at ease, assuring them that the attire belonged to Mr. Stark, and he wouldn't notice that the amendments had been made.

They entered the bar that preceded the dining room, shifting uncomfortably in their costumes and searching for the two women who were their hosts for the weekend. They found them perched on barstools, sipping martinis delicately as they held the eyes of every man in the room. Aramis was clad in navy blue, a welcome departure from her signature black uniform. The gown gathered over her left shoulder, cutting high across her chest, with a cascade of sheer fabric falling over her left arm. The ruched bodice hugged at her waist, and fell softly over her hips and down her legs. Her large tumbling curls were pinned up, almost haphazardly, with small pins that glittered in the candlelight. She looked effortlessly chic, as though she had stepped through a Raphael painting and into the dining room. Diana wore a simple nude sheath made of satin. The thick strap of the halter neckline wrapped around her neck, the empire cut hanging loosely just below her chest and billowing down over her legs and to the floor. Her hair had been twisted into an elegant chignon at the base of her neck, a single diamond pendant gleaming at her throat. She appeared as though she belonged on a red carpet next to Cary Grant and John Wayne, not in southern England on break from their assignments in the middle of a war.

Aramis caught Don's eye after a few moments, and she smiled as she looked him over in his dinner attire. They approached, trying their best to look comfortable and confident, even though neither of them was entirely sure what the standards of behavior were.

"Right on time." Diana said as she set down her martini. Chuck took her hand and kissed it, bending forward as he pressed his lips to the soft skin of her hand. He did so in a mocking fashion, though Aramis knew it was just a cover, and he would have made any excuse to touch her. Diana blushed slightly, laughing with faux-dramatics to try and cover her excitement. Aramis laughed and shook her head, taking another sip of her cocktail. Don met her eyes again.

"My goodness." She said, her signature half smile creeping over her face. "You certainly clean up well." She brushed at the jacket over his shoulders and ran her hands over the satin of the lapels across his chest. He chuckled.

"I just can't believe people have to wear these for dinner every night." He remarked. She giggled and took another sip of her drink. "You look beautiful." He complimented her softly. She lowered the martini from her lips and curved her lips into a smile.

"Thank you." She held his eyes, silent for a few moments. "Would you like something to drink?" She asked, recovering her composure.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" He joked. She rolled her eyes and motioned for the bartender. They ordered cocktails and chatted happily for a few minutes before the Maître D' approached and swept them off to their table at the back of the restaurant against giant windows that looked out over the water. The sommelier brought wine, the servers brought food, and they dined together as if they were old friends, laughing and joking and teasing one another jubilantly, as though Hitler had never been born, the United States never recruited them, and the war had never started.

The evening progressed, and as their wine glasses continued to be refilled Chuck and Diana's attempts at subtlety regressed, and they were soon off in their own world, flirting and laughing as though nothing else existed.

Aramis leaned to Don as she placed a piece of fish on her fork and whispered in his ear.

"Chuck and Diana sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G..." He chuckled and set down his fork, covering his mouth with his napkin to hide his laughter. Aramis smirked and took a sip of her wine, glancing at their friends and wagging her eyebrows, causing Don to laugh aloud again as he tried to swallow his food. He set his napkin down and looked at the woman sitting next to him.

"So this is what your life was like back home in New York, eh?" Don said casually, lifting a piece of steak to his mouth. Her eyes narrowed slightly and her head dipped to the side.

"I'm not sure what you mean." She responded.

"Dinner jackets, and fancy dining rooms, and galas and people handling the particulars." She narrowed her eyes further, and scoffed mildly as she took another pointed sip of her wine.

"It's what my mother wanted my life to be." She said derisively. He looked up at her curiously.

"But not you?" Her eyebrow arched for a split second before her features returned to neutral. She shook her head and closed her eyes, trying to hide them as they rolled to the back of the room.

"I was perfectly content helping my father and brother run Stark Enterprises. Staying at the office late at night before briefings and presentations, going to business meetings, managing my brother's deluded vision of a schedule. I've never been one for galas, or dining rooms or dinner jackets." She took another bite of her fish.

"So what happened?" She kept her eyes on her plate as she finished chewing.

"My mother didn't approve. My father wanted to keep my mother happy, so he fired me." Her eyes met his. Don stared at her in shock. She continued. "I was recruited by General Donovan the same day, so it was all fairly serendipitous."

"So you left all of this behind for no sleep, no showers and the possibility of being killed?" He asked, looking around him, motioning to the fine china, the well-dressed and perfectly mannered servers, the classical ambiance and posh diners that surrounded them. She looked him in the eye, her face falling slightly. She was quiet for a moment, and she searched for the words that could convey her feelings.

"My mother wanted me to 'take my proper place' in society. I have no interest in doing so. I've never enjoyed galas, or parties, or lunches, or fancy dinners. I enjoy good food and good wine, and tolerate the pomp and circumstance that comes along with it, recognizing it as the necessary evil that it is. I deplore the feelings of superiority that are rampant and seemingly inherent across the 'social class' I was born into, and I avoided them at almost all costs. Before I came here, my father told me I could get married or join the war effort, so I joined the war effort." She could tell he was still trying to wrap his head around her words. "I wanted to use my brain, my talents, and my thirst for a challenge for something other than planning a wedding and decorating a house, Don. I have no interest in being some rich, alcoholic douche-bag's wax-figure arm candy who thinks that the outfit she puts on to go to lunch, or the charity gala she's supposed to attend, or the manufacturer of the china her 'servants' set out before a dinner party she's throwing is the most important thing in her life. I want more than that. I deserve more than that." She spoke firmly and passionately, but there was a sadness and regret in her voice that Don couldn't shake. He searched her face, trying to imagine her childhood and the expectations that came with it, and wondered how she managed to break from their weight to become the independent and brilliant young woman who sat before him. He infinitely loved and respected his mother, regardless of her strict and sometimes overbearing tendencies. She cared for her children, fostering and developing their hopes and dreams, supporting them and pushing them to be the best versions of themselves, and he couldn't imagine a mother acting in any other way.

"I don't understand." He said softly. "Shouldn't she want what's best for you?" He asked. Aramis dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin and placed her hand over the base of her wine glass, swirling the greenish yellow chardonnay in the crystal stemware.

"She does. But she wants what she thinks is best for me, because she's never been exposed to anything different. In her mind, my place is at the head of a charity, sipping tea in a well appointed parlor of a 5th Avenue apartment as the team of nannies attends my two children and I discuss the newest redecoration of the nursery until my husband arrives home to take me to some beautiful restaurant for dinner, because that's what she had. And she was very happy. And she can't understand how anyone could possibly want something different."

"Doesn't she know you?" Aramis sighed sadly and took a sip of wine.

"She doesn't want to. Not the real me, anyway." They sat there in silence, her eyes locked on the wine glass, and his on her. He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. She looked up at him, her ash gray eyes locking on his.

"Don't change, Aramis." He said, his voice full of sincerity. "Not for anyone." The left side of her mouth curled slightly as his eyes bored into hers. She chuckled and covered her eyes.

"I'm sorry." She said, breaking the stare. "I'm sitting here prattling on about things that don't matter, and you never finished telling me about how you managed to sneak that motorcycle out of Normandy!" Her face changed almost instantly, the sadness and regret replaced by youthful exuberance and joy, and he was taken aback by how quickly she was able to shift the discussion. He acquiesced, not wanting to press her further, and he continued his tale of Alton Moore's brilliant thievery of the G.I. Motorcycle. He played up the amusing parts of the story to broaden her smile and make her laugh, if only to boost his own relief as he watched the sadness and regret slowly melt from her eyes as he spoke.

* * *

Fin. Hopefully you enjoyed.


	7. The Low Countries

**Authors Note: **Consider this my obligatory "I don't own this" due diligence. I do own my original fiction characters, and nothing else. I'm not making money on it. So don't sue me.

**Authors Note 2:** Thanks ZimmyZam for another sweet review. IT's always lovely to hear from you guys.

Enjoy!

* * *

**All We Cannot See**

**Chapter 7: The Low Countries**

Eindhoven was a spectacle to behold. There was orange everywhere, armbands, banners, flags, and streamers hanging from windows and stretching across the streets. It was as though the war was over and the Germans were defeated, a stark contrast from reality. Aramis and Vaughn watched with measured expressions as the infantry rolled into the city. They were being followed closely by the British Armored division which was expected to arrive within the hour.

"This was too easy." She said to him quietly as the crowd cheered.

"And too convenient." He added. She started to recognize the faces in the crowd as American paratroopers, which was confirmed by the eagle patches that adorned their jackets. "Come on." He said, gesturing toward the city center. She followed closely behind him as they weaved their way through the throngs of people celebrating joyously, cheering on their "liberators" as they proceeded down the main road. They had arrived in Eindhoven a few hours earlier, after receiving word that the leader of the resistance network there had been killed and replaced, pulling them away from their duties in Amsterdam. Van Kooijk was a confident man who was known better for charging into things headfirst than he was for discretion, and had a penchant for flamboyant action over stealth and caution, a combination that did not lend itself well to intelligence.

She recognized Nixon instantly as he stood with the other commanders of Easy Company. Dick had his binoculars over his eyes as he tried to spot any threats. Harry Welsh and Buck Compton stood by, waiting for orders on moving forward. Van Kooijk was there as well, being introduced to Winters as Vaughn and Aramis approached. They greeted each other, and van Kooijk continued in his speech without skipping a beat. He began speaking about reports as he put his arm over an 11 year old boy, and Aramis kept her face stony. To say she and Vaughn were skeptical was an understatement. The O.S.S. did not condone the use of children as informants, as their underdeveloped perceptual abilities rarely yielded credible intelligence. She applauded silently as Dick expressed similar concerns, but she forced herself to keep her features neutral as he spoke, despite the unease that began to seep into her consciousness. They had no way of confirming the intelligence he was providing, and neither she nor Vaughn trusted the newly appointed leader enough to take him at his word. Her eyes flitted over the commanders anxiously as Dick agreed to take advantage of van Kooijk's help with accessing the bridges, but she remained silent.

When they started off again, she grabbed Nixon's arm and held him back to fall in step with her a few paces behind the others, whispering her concerns to him in hushed and desperate tones. They had no way of confirming anything he said, and everything they had seen since they arrived in Holland ran in direct opposition to the things they were being told. Nixon told her everything was fine and that they had it under control. She was unable to argue as he was yanked away by a young Dutch girl who pressed her lips to his passionately, and he allowed himself to be carried away in her embrace. She rolled her eyes and looked to Vaughn who looked lost in thought as they walked.

"We need to scout ahead and see what's happening. This doesn't add up to anything but catastrophe." He said softly. She looked to Nixon who had disentangled himself from the young woman, his smiling face beaming as he laughed at a joke one of the other officers had made.

"Let's go." She said stiffly. They made their way toward the city limits, but were held up by a commotion in one of the town squares. Chants of "whore" and "slut" could be heard, drowning out an array of despondent and pleading cries. They watched as women were dragged into the center of the crowd, their clothes torn away, and their hair cut, being branded for their "shameful" interactions with the Nazi's that had occupied their city for over 5 years. She heard the troupe of officers approach from behind her as Harry Welsh asked what the women had done. Van Kooijk told them the women had slept with the Germans, a generalization that Aramis doubted was wholly true.

"This is disgusting." Aramis said disdainfully as she watched the spectacle unfold before her. Van Kooijk looked at her suspiciously.

"This is justice." He responded.

"This isn't justice. This is hubris and revenge. And it's abhorrent."

"I think it's inappropriate for you to say such a thing." He countered. She kept her eyes forward, watching the scene with revulsion.

"I'm not being inappropriate, Mr. van Kooijk." She said dangerously. "You're just a misogynist." She walked away without another word. Vaughn caught up to her a few paces later and put a friendly hand on her shoulder, dipping his chin down to let her know that he supported her. She kept her eyes forward as they strode down the street, cutting a swath through the celebrating Dutchmen as they went to try and make sense of what was going on.

Fortunately, the division commanders opted to stay in Eindhoven overnight, giving Aramis and Vaughn a little more time to collect what they could before delivering a report. They entered the command post for the 506th Regiment, opting to steer clear of the British armored as they were far less likely to receive the report very well. They stood at the briefing table with Colonel Sink, Major Strayer, and Major Horton, relaying all the information they were able to obtain over the course of the day.

"After speaking with Captain Nixon & Captain Winters, we headed out to see if we could establish contact with any of our resistance leads across the networks. We were unsuccessful, which is another concern entirely. We also haven't heard back from van Kooijk regarding their whereabouts, which gives us even more reason to worry. On our way, we were able to find evidence of German movements here, up Highway 69, heading North." Vaughn said quickly as he pointed out the positions on the map.

"How do you know they were German?" Strayer asked in his gravelly voice, his arms clutched tightly across his chest. Vaughn's eyes met his.

"Unless you can think of another large-scale, armed infantry that would have marched on that road in the last few days, I think it's safe to assume it was the Germans, Colonel." Vaughn replied sharply.

"That, and we found spent German artillery littered over the road. They're not very good at covering their tracks." Aramis added.

"We received intelligence on a call with the home office that's also worth noting. Stark?" Vaughn said, his tone softening. Aramis stepped forward.

"We've heard from a very reliable source that the Germans didn't pull out of Eindhoven in retreat. They did so as a feint maneuver. Contrary to what General Montgomery would have you believe, the occupation forces here are NOT bottom of the barrel infantry, and you haven't caught them entirely by surprise. They heard that this operation being planned, though it's become clear they were a little fuzzy on all the details. Our source was able to give us some insight into their counter-measures, though he too was a little fuzzy on the details. As Vaughn said, we weren't able to make contact with any of the networks in the surrounding area, so what we have in terms of real-time intelligence is limited, but it would behoove you to take these suggested counter measures seriously." She handed the Colonel a piece of paper, which contained the synthesis of documents Fritz Kobel supplied to their office in Bern. Sink regarded her skeptically as he took the report from her outstretched hand and unfolded it, skimming its contents as they watched.

"So what is your recommendation?" Sink asked. She looked to Vaughn.

"Proceed with caution, Colonel. Seek an alternate route if you can. If the German's departure from Eindhoven was, in fact, a feint maneuver, as the report in your hand will say, they have re-assembled their strength somewhere between Neunen and Veghel, which is directly in the path you need to take to secure your objective. Traveling on the roads will leave you exposed to attack, and it could get a lot of your men killed." He said, his voice confident.

"Who is this 'reliable source' you mentioned? How do we know he's trustworthy?" Sink asked, looking at the report in his hand.

"He's an established asset of our office. He's very close to the German high command, and has provided us with useful and credible intelligence a number of times. I can assure you, any information he provides is of the highest quality." Vaughn responded.

"Who is he?" Sink pressed. Aramis narrowed her eyes.

"That's confidential information, Colonel." She said definitively.

"I can't change the plans of an entire operation because two O.S.S. Officers handed me a piece of paper and said 'Think about it,' Miss Stark. I need a name."

"The safety of our assets trumps everything, Colonel. I'm sorry." Vaughn said stiffly. "However, I would be happy to put you in contact with General Donovan if you require further assurance that this intelligence is genuine."

"That's not what I asked for, and that's not what I need, Craft. I'll take this under advisement, but as it stands, we'll continue on to the Bridges outside Eindhoven at first light tomorrow with the Guard's Armored. If the Krauts are holed up in Neunen or Veghel, we'll see how they like the taste of tank shells as they fly through their windows." He looked to Strayer and Nixon. "Thank you for your report. That'll be all." He said dismissively. Aramis cocked her eyebrow and looked at him in furious surprise. She felt Vaughn grasp her elbow, and she knew not to say another word.

His grip was firm as he led her out of the house they had appropriated as their command post, and she fumed silently as she followed his guidance. When they were far enough away that they could speak comfortably without being overheard, he turned to her and held up a hand, silencing anything she might have said before she could open her mouth.

"I know. It's complete horse shit, and they're idiots for not listening." She folded her arms over her chest and pursed her lips at him. "But we can't focus on that right now. We have networks that we can't make contact with and that is our main point of concern. You know as well as I do that the silence across the board is a bad sign. We have to operate under the impression that they've been compromised, but hope they can't respond because they're either in hiding or the German occupation is too heavy for them to respond safely. Regardless of the situation, it doesn't lend to good omens, for us or for them." He gestured to the Command Post. "We've got to get moving."

"What about van Kooijk?"

"There's nothing we can do about him right now. He's not an ideal leader, but Eindhoven is whole and functioning, which is more we can say for our networks up north." She nodded. "We'll move out in an hour. Meet on the northeast side of town, just past the dyke. Try to get some more ammo. We might need it." She turned and strode back into the town. The search for ammunition could wait. She had more pressing matters on her mind.

She knew he would be as far away from battalion staff as humanly possible, likely taking more than a few "well deserved" pulls from the silver flask Howard gave him for his 21st birthday. After 20 minutes of searching, she finally found him conversing with Dick Winters in front of one of the houses of a resistance member. He was smiling happily, his eyes a little glazed over and she could smell the Vat 69 on his breath. He called out to her jovially, opening his arms with a drunken enthusiasm she hadn't seen from him since their time in London.

He took one look at her and knew this wouldn't be a pleasant conversation. Her face had the same expression she carried whenever she caught he and Howard doing something particularly devious, only there was a stronger severity that confused him. Her mouth was tense, puckering faintly as her jaw clenched. Her brow as drawn together slightly and her eyes were cold and hard. Something was up, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was.

"What's the matter, Boo?" He asked as gently as possible. She opened and closed her fists as she stared him down. She took a deep breath and addressed him.

"I'm moving out in about 30 minutes. I had to find you and relay some information, as Colonel's Sink and Strayer didn't think our report was worth noting." She looked between he and Winters as she spoke, addressing both of them in a commanding and serious manner. "You need to be careful. The intelligence van Kooijk is providing you isn't sanctioned by our office. He's a newly appointed leader, and he hasn't shown himself to be all that careful or reliable. We have thus far been unable to establish contact with any of our networks up North, and it looks like the Germans are pulling a feint. They're likely waiting for you somewhere up the road." She watched as their faces fell as she spoke.

"Aramis, look around you." Nixon said, sobering slightly. "This major city was barely guarded. What do you think they're going to have for us in the small towns?"

"I know you're drunk, Nix, but you're not an idiot. Your lexicon hasn't deteriorated to the point where you don't remember what 'feint' means. We have reason to believe there's a large German force waiting for you up North. We found evidence on Highway 69 leading up to Veghel and Neunen. We don't know what you're going to be running into, but we're going to do our best to find out."

"Our intelligence told us that the Krauts here were all kids and old men…" He started. Her nostrils flared and her eyes flitted to him angrily.

"No, Lewis. BRITISH Intelligence told you the Germans here were kids and old men. The Brits also marched into this mission half-cocked. The O.S.S. tried to advise Ike against it from the beginning, but he was too enamored with Montgomery's flattery and intrigue to listen. We have reports from VERY reliable sources that contradict every statement Montgomery made about German forces here, but they wouldn't listen. They've put the entire Allied Advance on hold for this, including re-appropriating resources from Patton's army which, by the way, was basically steamrolling its way through France before this mission was green-lit. They've gone all in without calculating the risk, and I'm afraid that you're going to be the ones stuck with the bill."

"So what do you suggest?" Winters interjected. She sighed and shrugged.

"Be as vigilant as possible. Keep your eyes out for any sign of German movements. They'll likely try to slow your progression by blowing the bridges, if they haven't done that already. They've had time to set up tactical positions, but we haven't had time to find them. The roads will leave you exposed, but we have no way of knowing if they've rigged the fields with mines. The best I can do right now is tell you to be careful, and keep an eye out for us. We'll get you whatever we can as soon as we can." Nix had a sobering look on his face. His eyes met hers, and he pulled her into a hug.

"Thank you for telling us." She hugged him fiercely.

"I have to keep you safe, big brother." He pulled away and looked at her sternly.

"But who's keeping you safe?"

"Vaughn, of course." She smiled at him. "I have to go. Be careful." She dashed off into the darkness, leaving the tense and nervous lieutenants in her wake.

She had 30 minutes before she had to meet Vaughn on the outskirts of town, but she still had one more stop to make. The infantrymen were scattered, some on patrol duty, while others were allowed to rest. She overheard a replacement she recognized from E-Company's first platoon mention that 2nd was stationed on the North side of the city setting up and guarding the roadblocks. She jogged over, keeping her eyes and ears peeled for her targets. She recognized their voices instantly as she approached the stone retaining wall that acted as the boundary of the city. Bill Guarnere's thick Philadelphia accent was unmistakable as he joked with his comrades. She heard Chuck's voice as he egged them on, Luz's perfect impression of Major Horton, and Don's distinct laughter. She approached slowly and quietly, wanting to avoid setting off alarms from the other outposts. When she was a few paces away, she made it a point to kick some of the stones on the road as she walked. She heard them whip around, pistols in hand when they heard the disturbance. She stopped in the middle of the road and cocked an eyebrow.

"Jesus, Stark. I almost shot you!" Bill exclaimed, lowering his pistol to his side. The others followed suit. She pursed her lips at him.

"That'll be the day…" She muttered sarcastically. She looked at each of them hard, her face stony. "I can't tell you much, and I don't have a lot of time. We're still piecing everything together, and we don't have a lot to go on, but I needed to talk to you before I left." Don noticed the serious look on her face as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. She sighed. "Everything in Holland won't be like Eindhoven. Far from it, actually. Montgomery is full of it. The Germans here aren't just an occupation force, and they know you're coming." Their faces fell.

"What do you mean?" Bill asked. She shook her head, dismissing the comment.

"I've already spoken with Sink, Strayer, and Horton, but their hands are tied and they can't alter the mission. Nixon and Winters know about this, and they're going to do everything they can, but you need to be as vigilant as possible. Don't let the ease of Eindhoven lull you into complacency. Try to stay off the roads if you can, they'll leave you exposed."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Chuck asked desperately. She shrugged in frustration.

"I wish I had a better answer to that, Chuck. Vaughn and I are going to try and get everything we can before you guys make contact." She heard footsteps behind her, and recognized them immediately.

"Stark, we have to go." Vaughn said stiffly. His face looked stonier than normal, and she knew something was wrong. She eyed him with concern, then looked back to Don and the boys.

"Be careful. I mean it." She said sternly. "Tell the others." She turned to Vaughn and they started to jog down the road and into the fields, leading them out of Eindhoven. Don stood immediately, his instincts overtaking his senses and jogged after them for a few paces, calling out to her. She whipped around, the curls of her ponytail springing behind her as she moved. He stood before her and pulled her into a strong embrace. She was stiff for a moment, not expecting his show of affection.

"Thank you for telling us." He whispered as he held her. She relaxed and wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing him softly as her breath floated across his neck. He pulled away and held her forearms gently. "You be careful, too." He said sincerely. "Both of you." He looked to Vaughn as he spoke. She nodded. Vaughn cracked the smallest glimpse of a wry smirk and bowed his head to the paratrooper. He gestured to the field once more, urging Aramis to follow him. She placed her hand on his shoulder gently and smiled at him before turning away, and they ran off into the darkness without another word.

* * *

They had been pouring over maps for the last hour, trying to establish positions of lost and fallen men, resistance networks and German movements when Nixon, Winters and newly appointed Easy Company leader Lieutenant Moose Heyliger entered the C.P. Station. Aramis was less than thrilled about continuing to work with the British, especially after the utter failure that was Operation Market Garden. They had rolled the dice and lost, and now they were taking a loan from the house that they wouldn't be able to pay back if this hand didn't play out. Aramis was risk averse, wasn't going to take any chances, and she had been working harder than usual to make sure of that. Diana stood to her left, having arrived late the night prior on an emergency request from the home office, leaving her responsibilities and obligations to her own networks and assets to help with the coordination of the effort. Vaughn stood at her right, his face stoic, watching as Colonel Sink pushed pins into different locations on a map of the area as he tried to establish a visual representation of where everyone was situated. Sink introduced the newcomers to the British officers seated at the table, and briefly explained the situation as only he could.

"…Which is why Colonel Dobie has been tasked with coordinating some kind of rescue operation for the Red Devils who were trapped when Arnhem fell."

"Our friends with the O.S.S. have coordinated with the Dutch Resistance who have agreed to harbor 140 of my chaps here, just outside a Jerry held town 15 miles north of the river." He acknowledged Vaughn, Aramis and Diana as he spoke, though his eyes stayed firmly planted on Vaughn and ignored Aramis and Diana's presence almost altogether. "They'll make their way to the riverbank here and assemble in the woods tonight."

"Tonight?" Aramis interjected, visibly surprised by the aggressive timeline.

"We need to get this done as swiftly as possible, Stark." Colonel Sink replied. She could tell his patience with the British Colonel was wearing thin. Aramis kept her face neutral. "Is tonight going to be a problem?" Vaughn's eyebrow arched as his lips drew inward. Diana bit the inside of her lip nervously as she kept her eyes glued to the map in front of her. Tonight was a problem, and a huge one at that.

"I spoke with the leads this morning for an update." Aramis started, leaning against the map on the table, trying to keep her voice measured and even. "They say they can move them under the cover of nightfall and get them to the riverbank assembly point, but it will take them a considerable amount of time to cover the distance to get there, and we need, at minimum, 6 hours to ensure the plans are properly communicated and distributed across the networks. That's not including the amount of time they'll need to make the necessary preparations on their end…"

"What preparations would those be?" Colonel Dobie interrupted, his voice carrying the same condescending tone Sobel used to employ. Aramis flicked her eyes up to the British Colonel, flaring dangerously. Nix's eyes widened as he saw the familiar look on her face.

"Preventative measures." She deadpanned cryptically.

"Prevention of what?" His skepticism and lack of consideration for anyone or anything other than his own men was pushing her to the end of her rope. She felt Vaughn bristle next to her, and she took a deep breath to try and maintain her composure.

"Exposure." She replied, her tone mirroring the flash in her eyes.

"To hell with exposure, we need to get my boys out of there as soon as possible." Dobie replied dismissively, waving off Aramis' statements as though she were a mosquito. Her eyes narrowed, and her lip curled.

"They are our assets, not your toys Colonel." Aramis responded sharply. She stood up straight and pulled her shoulders back, moving into a more aggressive stance as she squared off against the impetuous British Colonel. He looked into her face, clearly surprised that this petite young woman hadn't yet acquiesced to him.

"This isn't an issue that's up for debate." He replied with finality, intending to put her in her proverbial place. A dangerous smirk crossed the left side of her face, and she looked up at him as though he were pray she was about to devour. She took a step forward, purposefully and menacingly, and drew herself up in front him.

"I'm not debating the issue. I'm explaining why I'm right." Her voice was measured and dangerously soft, and Nix thought for a moment that she might actually kill him. She spoke again. "I won't have the lives or the cover of our carefully guarded assets compromised to recover your men. We will do what we can to help, but I will not risk eliminating or exposing an entire network of resistance assets just because YOUR Operation completely fell on its ass. You have the right to risk your life, and the lives of your own men as you see fit. But if you refer to the lives my assets, OUR assets, in a blasé and nonchalant manner again, I will tell each of them to disavow their missions and leave you to your own devices. Understand?" Colonel Dobie was leaning forward, his nose inching dangerously close to Aramis'. His face had gone a deep shade of crimson as his rage built with each word she spoke, and Nixon was primed and ready to pull her off of him before she tore him limb from limb. Colonel Sink's voice rang out across the room, shattering the tension to pieces.

"If we give you 8 hours to communicate the plans, will that be a sufficient amount of time? Craft?" Sink looked to their leader who had stepped behind Aramis to pull her away. He looked to the commander and nodded affirmatively.

"Yes, Colonel. That should be enough time." He said curtly.

"Done." Sink barked. "What's next?" He cast his eyes back at the map, and motioned toward Major Strayer to continue. Once the official rendezvous point and time was selected, they were dismissed, and Vaughn gave Aramis a sharp look as he exited. She rolled her eyes and followed him, knowing what was in store.

"I'm not apologizing, Vaughn." She said when he stopped in one of the clearings. He looked at her hard, and she could tell he was seething. She stared back at him, matching his look.

"Nor should you. I just wanted to let you know that I'm damn proud of how you handled yourself back there. Dobie deserved a 5 finger salute to his jaw, and the pleasure of dealing with this mess himself." Vaughn was clenching his fists, trying to work the tension out of his fingers and calm himself down. He started pacing back and forth in front of her, and her eyebrows wound themselves together.

"I'm confused. I thought you wanted me to follow you…"

"…So I could yell at you? Far from it." He laughed sarcastically. He stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath that lasted longer than it should have. He looked back at her. "You need to be more careful, Aramis. This is a war, and we're dealing with some pretty unsavory characters. You can't take everything on." She scoffed.

"Please, I could have torn Dobie limb from limb."

"Yes, you could have. But what happens the next time you're in a room full of men and the others start to join in? You need to have more regard for your own life, Stark. Not just the lives of your colleagues and your assets." She looked at him, swallowing the sarcastic retort she had ready when she saw his face. He was concerned, afraid, and angry, and she wasn't sure which touched her more. "If anything happens to you, I will never forgive myself. You've spread yourself too thin, and it's starting to show. That wasn't the calm, cool, and collected Aramis I trained at Prince William. You have to start taking better care of yourself, or you'll start to slip up. Do you understand me?" She nodded at him, silent. "Good. We've got a lot of work to do, and not a lot of time to do it. Get Diana the communication plan. I need you here to help me salvage and implement their harebrained strategy. Dobie might not give a shit what happens to anyone else, but I'll be damned if I let any of these boys go down trying to save his ass." She smiled at him, and he ruffled her hair paternally. They walked out of the woods to take on their missions, desperately hoping they could pull this half-cocked idea off with as few casualties as humanly possible.

* * *

They stood on the banks of a pond about a mile from where they had set up their temporary base, listening to Lieutenant Heyliger as he reviewed the components of their mission. Why they needed to risk their own lives to rescue British soldiers who had gotten themselves stuck behind enemy lines was almost as lost on Don as the name "Operation Pegasus," and he truly thought Moose was joking when he told them. Thankfully, some engineers from Canada had supplied 6 boats for their mission, making their river crossing easier, and hopefully much quieter. He watched Moose intently, listening for every detail, and prepared himself for a long night.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two familiar figures approach. His brow furrowed as Aramis and Vaughn stood next to Moose, looking out over the men chosen for the mission with stoic features. They were called in as an emergency response team to help coordinate the effort, and had offered to help them drill with the boats. Given their extensive espionage training, Heyliger expected the men to pay rapt attention, and obey the O.S.S. operatives every command as though it were his own. It was for their safety, and that was the key here.

Don looked at Aramis as she stood before them. Her posture was sagging slightly, despite the tension she held in her face. Her jaw was clenched and her blinking was sluggish. She was the most interesting combination of activated and exhausted Don had ever seen, and he started to worry about her. Heyliger dismissed them, telling each squad to report to a different set of boats given their assignments during the mission, and shook Aramis and Vaughn's hands. Don set off toward his station, following Chuck, Babe and Joe Liebgott toward the edge of the pond.

Aramis had been assigned to their squad, and she addressed them all quickly and concisely. She showed them the easiest and quietest way to push the boats into the water, demonstrating as the vessel glided noiselessly into the pond. She showed them the best way to board the boats without making splashing noises, which required the individual doing the pushing to get wet. When they complained, she gave them a sharp look that quieted them instantly, and reminded them that wet was better than dead. She demonstrated how to row the boat soundlessly, eliminating the usual sounds of the oars as they lapped against the water. She had them practice each component of this separately, ensuring their technique was perfect in each element before putting them all together, rotating them in positions until they got it right. She moved through every exercise succinctly, brushing off every attempt they made at joking with her. It quickly became apparent that she wasn't in the mood to socialize, which impressed upon each of them the gravity of the mission they were undertaking. Some of them continued to act casually toward the exercises, causing her anger flare and them to return her fire.

She stood on the riverbank with her eyes closed, passively listening for their approach on one of the combined exercises. Her lips were pursed and her arms were crossed, and Don worried that they were being too loud yet again. The day had regressed rapidly, with Joe firing back at Aramis more times than any of them would have liked, adding increased strain to a situation that could have hardly been described as ideal. Tensions were high, and they all wanted to finish their drills so they could return to their stations and get a few hours of sleep before they had to jump off. Don kept his eyes on Aramis, praying that they would manage to execute this round to her satisfaction. He saw her shoulders drop, and he knew it was a lost cause.

"I can hear you from a mile away, Chuck." Aramis called out. Her eyes were still closed as they landed on the shore as silently as they possible, and Don wondered how she was able to call him out for being loud, even though she couldn't see that he had disembarked first. Chuck's nostrils flared as he stood from his crouched position.

"Christ, Stark. What more do you want?" He said, expressing his frustration. Her eyes flicked open and landed on him instantly, as though she knew exactly where he would be standing. She marched up to where he stood on the shore, her mouth set in a thin line. She knocked the front brim of his helmet with her knuckles stiffly, causing it to shift downward on his head.

"I want you to keep quiet so you can stay the fuck alive." She said severely, her eyes locked on his. He pulled away from her, taken aback by her overt display of aggression. His eyes were wide, and he regarded her with equal parts fear and respect. She turned on her heel and moved back up the shoreline. "Again." She commanded definitively as she walked away.

"Jesus, what's up her ass?" Don heard Joe whisper to Chuck.

"I heard that, Liebgott." She called out, not turning around as she spoke. "Again." She commanded a second time, her voice taking on a distinctly more menacing and final tone. She reclaimed her previous position on the shore as she turned around. "Scramble positions." She said. Her eyes were closed again

They drilled the combination of exercises again and again until she was satisfied with their performance. By the end, Don was amazed at how quietly they were able to storm the bank and reassemble, even getting a small smirk from Aramis on their last round as they called to her from the other side of the pond. When they returned, she had a look of relief on her face, though Don found it hard to discern from the exhaustion that she was trying to mask. She looked at each of them in their wet OD's, cigarettes hanging from many of their lips as they regarded her, each hoping she would give them the all clear. She nodded, and they relaxed visibly, with Joe throwing his head skyward and thanking the lord.

"You guys are good." She said softly. "Go get some rest. Check in with Lieutenant Heyliger for your orders. Great job." She finished. They looked at her expectantly, and she was confused for a moment. "Oh! Right…" she said recovering herself. "Dismissed." They chuckled at her lapse, thanking her as they walked off and headed toward their stations, more than happy to have a few hours to sleep before the mission. Don stayed behind and approached Aramis, anxious for the opportunity to speak with her one-on-one.

"Hey there, Captain Sobel." He teased. She looked up from a paper she was holding and rolled her eyes at him, giving him a smirk of annoyance and amusement. He pulled her into a hug, which she returned happily.

"You should get some rest." She said, pulling away from him. "It's going to be a long night." She smiled at him and put her hand on his shoulder, tucking the paper into her sleeve. He nodded and smiled back.

"Aramis." Vaughn's gruff voice called to her. She turned to him, and a strange look passed between them Don didn't understand. She dropped her hand from his shoulder and stepped toward her boss, moving across the granular shore silently. She looked back at Don over her shoulder.

"Good luck, tonight." She said softly. "Remember, stay quiet." He laughed softly and waved, watching her as she walked with Vaughn, whispering and nodding as they continued off toward their unknown and clandestine activities.

* * *

He stepped out of the barn, desperately needing some fresh air and some time to collect his thoughts. The sun was setting, casting a bright and beautiful array of colors across the Danish sky. He took a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth as he looked out over the makeshift base. Everything was quiet, as most men were preparing for the rescue mission, either by sleeping or preparing their battle stations to provide the team with as much cover as possible. He started walking, no particular destination in mind, and found himself heading in the direction of the forest. He sought little more than a few minutes of solace, and time to collect his thoughts before they risked their lives, yet again, to save the British.

He caught a flash of brown hair out of the corner of his eye, and he whipped his head around, doing a double take. He hadn't thought to see her here. He hadn't thought to see any of them here, and he was momentarily taken aback by her presence. It lent more gravity to the situation, impressing it's importance upon him further.

She was striding out of a tent, her features intent and focused. He called to her softly, and broke into a jog to catch her pace. She turned upon hearing her name and saw him jog up to her, a smile breaking out over her face.

"What are you doing here?" He asked with surprise. He pulled her into a hug without a second thought or waiting for her response, and she beamed against his chest as she melted into his embrace. She pulled away after a few moments and looked at him, responding to his question.

"I was called in by the home office. Aramis and Vaughn needed some help with the Dutch networks after everything went belly-up in Arnhem. Vaughn needs Aramis to help strategize, so I came to help coordinate with all the involved parties." He looked at her, still in disbelief that he would see her in Holland of all places.

"Am I keeping you?" He asked, remembering how harried and curt her O.S.S. colleagues had been earlier that day. She chuckled softly under her breath and shook her head.

"Not at all. They've got everything synthesized and set to go, so they don't really need me anymore. There's nothing we can do now but watch and hope everything goes well. I was just going to take a walk to get some air. I have to head back in a few hours."

"Back where?" He asked casually. She looked at him with a sly smile.

"You know I can't tell you. " She said. He smiled back.

"It's always worth a shot." He shrugged. They were silent for a moment as the sun dipped lower in the sky. "I was about to take a walk myself. Would you like some company?" He asked, trying to sound casual, but fearing he failed miserably. She nodded happily.

"I can't think of anything I'd love more." They set off, side by side, at a comfortable pace. They walked in companionable silence, enjoying the company of one another wordlessly, and relishing the all to rare occasion of proximity."I'm so happy to see you." She said softly, breaking the silence. "I was worried sick as the numbers were coming in. I can't tell you what a relief it is to know you're safe." He adjusted his rifle on his shoulder.

"You too." He responded. "I haven't seen you in a while, and Aramis is always busy or barking orders, so I rarely get the chance to ask how you are. But I always try." She smiled but kept her face forward as they walked.

"I hear you boys were giving her a hard time earlier today when you were drilling with the boats." Diana said, her voice taking on an almost maternal tone at the mention of their friend.

"She wasn't being all that pleasant herself." Chuck defended, trying to keep it light and humorous. They entered a grove of trees, signifying they had reached the perimeter of the makeshift base. If they ventured any further, they would pass into unregulated territory, and risk questioning by the many sentries standing guard and patrolling the perimeter. Diana stopped and looked at him. She looked tired, frustrated, and disappointed. She sighed and rubbed her hand over eyes, shaking her head and pursing her lips.

"She's been working around the clock to coordinate an operation under foreign command, in an occupied territory that will get everyone back to safety. She's done this while maintaining the integrity of her civilian contacts, dealing with the politics of American and British commanders, and managing her other missions and obligations. Yet, she still found the time to help train all of you so you wouldn't sound like fish out of water when you landed on the enemy's shoreline and get yourselves killed. Give her some credit, Grant." Chuck was struck by the change in Diana's tone. "She's been cranky because Colonel Dobie hasn't been all that receptive to her feedback and has gone out of his way to make sure she knows that. She's been testy because she's holding the lives of hundreds of courageous civilians in her hands as she asks them to help by sheltering and hiding British soldiers from ever-present German occupation forces. She's hard on you because she doesn't want you to get killed while risking your lives trying to save our allies who couldn't manage their own operation. And she's exhausted because she's been working literally non-stop to make sure everyone comes back safely. I think you owe her a little more than bad attitudes and grumbling at her under your breath while she tries to help train you to move a little more quietly." She scolded. Chuck was quiet.

"I had no idea…" He started

"Now you do." She softened. "We're all tired, Chuck. I know it's not easy being at the mercy of others when all you want to do is make sure your friends are safe. Just cut her some slack, okay?" He nodded.

"I will. I promise."

"Thank you." She whispered. They were quiet for a few minutes

"It feels like ages since that day at the beach in Bournemouth, doesn't it?" He remarked.

"It's hard to believe it was only a few months ago." She agreed. "I feel like everything has changed."

"Hopefully not everything." She smiled at him, catching his inference.

"Maybe not everything…" They stood there in the forest, watching as the sun dipped behind the clouds. She felt something brush over her fingers, and they both smiled softly as he took her hand in his.

* * *

They slid the boats in the water soundlessly, just as she taught them. She clasped her hands together tightly, her fingers interwoven, her knuckles whitening as she waited for a sound, any sound that might have given them away. She sat perched above the riverbank, behind a tower of sandbags that once housed a machine gun, and watched as the mission kicked off. She was so used to nighttime activities, she could see them rather clearly, catching some of their facial expressions as the light reflected off the inky black water. Her fatigue had depleted her ability to control her own emotions, and the anxiety she felt was almost crippling. She watched and listened intently, hoping her hard work would pay off, and praying her friends came back safely.

She was proud of how quiet they were, and she knew the only reason she could hear anything they were doing was because she was straining her ears for any noise coming from the river. She knew the German positions were weakest here, and her contacts said the sentries on duty this evening had a penchant for drinking too much beer on their shifts, and would likely be very out of sorts by the time the sun fell. This gave her a boost of confidence, but not enough to diminish her fear.

She was alone at her post. Vaughn was monitoring the status of the networks, waiting for the green signal to come in from the leads that would indicate their success and safety. He was hidden away in the farmhouse where they had taken up residence, glued to his field phone and waiting patiently for it to ring. Diana left them earlier that day, just after sundown to join the network leads and ensure things went smoothly on their end. She was also there to help in the event of any fallout, though they all prayed it wouldn't come to that.

She saw the flares burst in the sky above them, signaling Colonel Dobie had made contact with officers, and the evacuations had started. She returned her gaze to the river, the boats making slightly more noise with the added weight of the British soldiers. She clenched her jaw as they tumbled to the bank of the river on their side, and she was sure Hitler could have heard them in Berlin with all the noise they were making. She gripped her hands harder and waited for the bullets to fly, but none came. The boats moved back across the river as Joe Liebgott's footsteps led the newly arrived British Soldiers up the riverbank and to safety behind the line. The second fleet arrived with the same panache, and Aramis was sure the Germans would hear them this time. But the bullets never came, and she heard Bull Randleman lead the British down the same path Joe had taken only a few minutes earlier. The boats returned to the enemy side, the last trip that would bring the remaining Red Devils and Easy men back to safety. She heard the boats land, and several heavy footfalls as they jumped out. She saw them make a break for the path, heading away from the shore and behind the line.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding as she watched the last man pass her position. She saw some of the replacements run down to the beach to pull the boats back, moving swiftly and quietly as they picked up the wooden structures and brought them behind the line. As they moved out of her line of sight, she dropped her head to rest on her bicep muscles, and took deep, relieving breaths as she rested in the knowledge that it was over and that they had been successful.

She stayed there for a few moments, breathing slowly and releasing the anxiety and tension from her body. She repeated it to herself silently, over and over, that everyone was fine, everyone was safe, and the day was over. She felt a hand pass over her shoulders as a voice whispered her name. She lifted her head and saw Vaughn kneeling next to her, looking at her sympathetically, with fatigue and relief on his face.

"Everything is clear." He whispered, his voice gruff. "The leads reported everything is in tact on their end. Diana is with them now, taking a night to rest before she heads back to her missions. I've got to talk to some of the British soldiers that were over there. Some of them brought some intelligence along for us." He shifted his head toward the interior of the base, signaling her to follow him. She nodded.

"I'll be along in a minute." She replied. He smiled at her softly and rubbed her back. He pushed himself to a standing position, and looked down at her.

"You did a great job today, Stark." He said softly. She smiled at him as he walked away, chuckling slightly as she realized that might have been the first real compliment he had ever given her.

She entered the barn where the celebration was taking place. They weren't hard to find, and it was lucky they were inside a carefully guarded and enclosed perimeter. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, the smell of whiskey and beer, and the familiar musk of men who had been working very hard and hadn't bathed in a few days. They were laughing, drinking, and shouting happily, emoting their relief and exuberance in a way that only soldiers could. She caught sight of Vaughn out of the corner of her eye. He was talking with Carwood Lipton animatedly, clearly appreciating the respite from his normal duties. She smiled and chuckled, happy to finally see him enjoying himself. She saw a stack of bottled beer against one of the walls, and she took one happily, knowing she needed to take a break as well.

She glanced around the room, trying to avoid the strange looks she was getting from the Red Devils as they caught her eye. She moved further into the barn, trying to find a familiar face that didn't belong to her boss or one of their officers. She caught a flash of red hair, and she saw Don, Muck, and Luz sitting at a table against the back wall of the barn. She started walking toward them, grateful to finally find a familiar face. As she moved through the crowd, she saw they were with Chuck, Toye, Penkala, Babe, and a few replacements she hadn't met. She slid onto the bench next to Don casually, too tired to stand on ceremony and announce her arrival.

"Hey guys." She said happily as she plopped down, setting her beer on the table in front of her and smiling at them. She was greeted with a chorus of variations on her name and nickname, the relative coherence of which was dependent on how drunk they were. Don wrapped his arms around her tightly, his child-like exuberance filling her with some much-needed energy. Muck pointed at her beer and asked her where she found it. She pointed at the opposite corner, causing him to push himself from his seat while asking each of them if they needed one. After he disappeared into the throngs of British soldiers, they turned their attention back to Aramis, congratulating her on a job well done.

"Lip said you and Vaughn orchestrated all the communication with the Brits to bring them back." Babe said to her. She made a face and shook her hands, signifying he was a little off.

"Kind of. We worked with our networks of Dutch Resistance. Operatives, assets, field agents, handlers, etc. We coordinated safe houses and hiding places to keep them out of sight of the Germans, which was hard since they were scattered all over from here up to north of Arnhem." She ticked the things off one by one as they came to her. Her tone was casual, as if she had listed these things off a million times before, and their faces contorted into various version of shock and surprise. "Then we found Colonel Dobie, liaised with the British Intelligence service, brought in the Canadian Engineers with the boats, provided more supporting intel on German positions and their movements, worked on finalizing the strategy, and, of course, making sure you boys didn't royally screw up all our hard work."

"Jesus. How do you find time to sleep?" Luz asked her jokingly, looking at the rest of his friends as he laughed. She chuckled sardonically as he took a sip of his beer.

"I don't." She replied drily. They laughed aloud again, not really taking her seriously, despite her cocked eyebrow and her pursed lips. Their laughter died away slowly, and they all smiled at her.

"But seriously, Boo. Thank you. It was an incredible effort. You and Vaughn really hit this one out of the park." Don said, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Me? What about you guys? I just talked and planned. You're the ones who executed everything. I didn't hear Joe or Chuck once!" She jabbed at the boys. Everyone hooted and hollered again, shoving Joe and Chuck in their seats as she called them out. They started making more jokes about their training and the mission, dissolving into side conversations, and drinking contentedly. She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand as her eyes started drooping.

"We boring you, Stark?" Joe Toye joked, catching her in the act. She chuckled and shook her head at him.

"No, no. I'm just tired." She said casually. Don's brow furrowed as he regarded her more carefully. There were dark circles forming under her eyes, which were starting to become bloodshot. She was paler than he remembered, and her normally perfect posture began to sag.

"When was the last time you slept?" He asked, genuinely concerned. She looked to the left, trying to think.

"What day is it today?"

"October 23rd." He responded. She nodded and continued to think.

"October 20th, then. When we first arrived in Osterbeek. So three days." She giggled when she saw Don's look of dismay and brotherly anger. "I told you guys, I had to make sure you didn't fuck everything up!" She winked at George across the table, causing him to laugh again. Don continued to stare her down, clearly not happy with her answer. Thankfully, she was spared a lecture by Colonel Dobie, who stood rather ironically on a soap box in front of the Red Devils and Easy, yelling some kind of battle cry Aramis couldn't quite make out. Major Digby spoke, addressing the Americans and thanking them for their service, including the O.S.S. and showing a bit more gratitude than his Colonel did during the planning stages. Fortunately, the major kept it quick, and the speech concluded with the entire assembled party in the barn shouting "Currahee!" at the tops of their lungs.

He turned his attention back to her. She wasn't about to slip away from her admission, no matter what excuse she wanted to provide. The rest of his friends were conversing amongst themselves, toasting one another and laughing after the British Major's speech. He looked at her as she gazed off into the distance, her eyes becoming unfocused as she spaced out.

"You need to get some sleep, Aramis." Don said to her privately, knowing that the others weren't listening. She nodded and blinked lazily, taking another quick sip from the warm beer in her hands.

"I know. I will." She responded. He wasn't sure he believed her, but he accepted her response and looked back at his friends. They were shouting and cheering and drinking, reveling in the celebration of a job well done. He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her from the side, pulling her closer to him as they listened to the chatter of the rest of the men. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he could feel the curled tendrils of her ponytail against his neck. He rested his back against the wall, keeping his arm around her casually as he laughed at one of Joe Liebgott's many jabs at Chuck. He felt her relax against him, and he started to notice how small she actually was. He lost himself in the merriment of his friends, laughing, and jibing and throwing sarcastic comments like they didn't have a care in the world, and that they weren't in the middle of an active war zone.

"Looks like we lost her, huh?" George said quietly from across the table, nodding his head in his direction. Don furrowed his brow in confusion and looked down to Aramis fast asleep against his shoulder. Don looks back at George, trying not to move. "I'll go get Vaughn." He said as he moved to stand from the bench. Don raised his hand to stop him.

"It's fine. Just let her sleep. He'll be around to find her at some point." Don reassured him. George cocked an eyebrow and nodded, returning to his seat. He focused his attention back to the other boys, giving a side eye to Don from his periphery, as a knowing smirk crossed his face.

He was quiet for the rest of the party, leaning into the wall with Aramis cradled against him, careful not to wake her. Her cheek rested gently against his shoulder, and he could feel her breathing softly as her chest rose and fell. Things started to die down as the adrenaline wore off and the alcohol kicked in, with several men finding themselves behind the barn expelling the contents of their stomachs involuntarily. Most of them were heading to bed, eager to finally get some sleep before they had to be on duty the next day. She hadn't moved, still frozen in sleep as she rested against him. When the rest of his friends stood to leave, George once again offered his assistance. Together, they shifted Aramis so Don could stand from his seat without waking her.

"Need help carrying her?" George asked as Don placed one arm behind her back and bent down to scoop the other under her legs.

"Nah." Don said. "I doubt she weighs 120 lbs soaking wet."

"Oh, so you do need help?" George joked. Don made a face at him as he pulled her from the bench and into his arms. "Alright, I'm going to sack out. You sure you don't need any help?" He asked again.

"Go to sleep, Luz." Don said kindly. Aramis curled into Don's embrace comfortably, nestling her face into his chest as she sighed in her sleep. George gave Don another look, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Alright. I'll see you in the morning." He said with a wave, walking out the barn doors and into the darkness. Don started toward the front of the barn where the officers had gathered, assuming that would be the best place to start looking for Vaughn. He wasn't hard to find, and Don picked out his sandy blonde hair and black attire almost instantly. He was speaking with Moose Heyliger, both laughing happily as the lieutenant clapped him on the shoulder. Vaughn turned and saw Don, his face falling instantly.

"Jesus, I told her to watch herself…" He said, a paternal concern washing over him as Don approached. It was clear that he was exhausted himself, the same dark circles Aramis had been sporting were forming under his eyes.

"Oh, no sir. She just fell asleep. I don't think she had more than two sips of her beer." He said quietly. He tried to salute to Moose who laughed.

"don't worry, Malarkey. I can see your hands are a little tied up at the moment. Is she okay?"

"Yes sir. She's just exhausted. She said she hadn't slept in three days." Vaughn exhaled loudly in frustration and ran a hand over his face.

"I'd threaten to kill her, but it looks like she's taking care of that on her own just fine." He sighed again and looked from Aramis and back to Moose. "I've got some things to wrap up here. Can you get her back? We're staying at the farmhouse just down the way." Don nodded.

"Not a problem sir." He said. Vaughn nodded and put his hand on Don's shoulder.

"Much appreciated. Moose." He acknowledged the Lieutenant before striding off in the direction of Colonel Dobie and Major Digby.

"Get her back safely Malarkey. Don't worry about curfew. I'll tell your Platoon leader."

"Thank you sir."

The gravel crunched under his boots with each step as he peered through the night, seeking the farmhouse that Vaughn and Aramis had been occupying in their time here. The walk was short, and the building soon materialized out of darkness. She was still fast asleep, nestled against him as he cradled her in his arms. He heard her take a deep breath and she shifted her body, wrapping her hand around the chain that held his dog tags and burrowing her face into his chest. He smiled and chuckled softly as he approached the front door, and he shifted her in his arms to grab and turn the handle.

He stepped over the threshold and entered the house, shutting the door behind him quietly. He continued up the stairs to the bedrooms. Both beds were entirely undisturbed, and Don was reminded that neither had found time to sleep since their arrival. He recognized Aramis' utility pack, and entered the second bedroom. He set her on the mattress, resting her head softly against the pillows, and taking care to not disturb her. He unwound her fingers from his dog tags gently, and laid her hand across her stomach.

Her hair was resting underneath her cheek, the curled tendrils brushing against her skin as her chest rose and fell. She took another deep breath and curled her body into a fetal position, hugging her legs to her chest and sliding her hands underneath the pillow as she rolled onto her side facing him. Don chuckled softly. He removed her boots, the smooth back leather glided off easily, and set them at the foot of her bed. The night was chilly. The change of season brought with it cooler temperatures, and he was sure they would wake up with frost the next morning. He took the neatly folded blanket from the foot of her bed and draped it over her body, letting the edge come to rest just below her earlobes. He rested his hand on her shoulder and watched her for a moment. He could see the dark circles underneath her eyes begin to fade as she rested, and some of the color had already returned to her face.

"Goodnight Aramis." He whispered softly. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before tiptoeing out of the room, eager to find his own bed and finally fall into a long and well deserved slumber.

* * *

The dichotomy between the mood of the Dutch and the mood of the men was striking. The cheers were overwhelming, just as they had been in Eindhoven, celebrating and thanking their "liberators" as they passed on the trucks that carried them. They were being revered as though they were heroes, conquerors that had pushed back the oppressing forces to set the innocent people free. They didn't feel like conquerors. They were unaccustomed to retreating, and it left a bitter taste in each of their mouths as they rolled back to Mourmelon.

It was just after Thanksgiving. They had left for Operation Market Garden just over two months earlier, and the world seemed a completely different. Lieutenant Winters was now Captain Winters, and he was no longer the leader of their company. His replacement, Moose Heyliger, had been shot 3 weeks prior by a nervous sentry who was stationed on a patrol. They had met and lost replacements, and felt like they were heading back to base with their tails between their legs.

The Army's base at Mourmelon was a far cry from Aldbourne. The camp sat next to the French crossroads town of Mourmelon-le-Grand which had housed soldiers on their way to and from war since the Roman Empire. The town was desolate, with little more to offer than a few bars, a whorehouse, and a small movie theater set up by the regiment that played the same 3 movies on rotation night after night. The food was almost unpalatable, but after eating rations for almost a month straight, no one was rushing to complain.

As was customary, the men of Toccoa found themselves interacting with replacement infantry. This crop, however, was straight out of basic and jump training, and they were as wet nosed and bright eyed as they came. Chuck wasn't sure if it was the two years of age or the battles he had faced, but the replacements seemed to look younger and younger each time a new wave came in. Their training had been rushed, and they all had the same naïve desire to jump into Berlin and "see some real action," though none of them had any idea what "real action" truly entailed.

Among this group of replacements was their new Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Norman Dike. Chuck had heard rumors that he was the favorite of one of the higher ups in the division. Formerly of battalion HQ, it was said that he was put in charge of Easy to get some combat experience and add a little "something" to his resume before he moved higher up on the food chain. Chuck hoped he would be somewhat similar to Moose, but as the days went on, that hope diminished exponentially. He ordered training exercises, but never seemed to be around when they were taking place, instead telling the platoon leaders and the NCO's to take care of it. He seemed to have little and less interest in the members of the company, and more interest in what was going on as Regiment and Division headquarters.

He heard a commotion one night as he walked toward the movie theater. He squinted his eyes, looking ahead, and made out two figures clad in black marching down the street, recognizing the tactical gear of the O.S.S. as they drew closer. His brow furrowed, and he wondered what they could possibly be doing here. They were heading in the direction of one of the regimental command posts. He jogged up to them, his breath puffing in front of him in the cold humid air. Their shoulders were sagging, and Aramis looked as though she was favoring her right leg, the slight limp throwing off her normally seamless gait. He stopped in front of them, concern written across his face.

"Hey." He greeted apprehensively. "Are you guys okay?" Aramis looked away. Her face was wan and tired. The stony expression Vaughn usually wore was peppered with fatigue and anxiety, and neither of them spoke for a moment.

"We're fine, Grant. Thank you." He responded. His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. Their faces, normally so stoic and unreadable, told him there was more they weren't saying.

"…but?" He asked. Aramis looked back to Vaughn. His lips were in a thin line, but he was silent. Aramis shook her head softly and sighted.

"We just dropped Diana at the field hospital. She's okay, but…"

He didn't hear anything Aramis said after she uttered the fateful words. Diana was at the field hospital. He took one look at them, their filthy clothes, the dirt that clung to the perspiration on their cheeks, the tears and rips in their tactical gear, the empty magazine holders on their belts, and he knew their escape was a narrow one. He turned away from the intelligence operatives that stood before him and took off in the direction of the hospital. He was out of breath when he blew through the doors, looking right and left as he scanned the crowd for a glimpse her familiar brown hair. He couldn't spot her, and he asked a medic from F Company to point him in the right direction. With a gesture to the back corner, Chuck took off again, brushing past other medics milling about the area.

He stopped short when he saw her sitting there on one of the hospital beds. Her sleeve was cut open from wrist to just above her shoulder, the drying blood caking the black surface like rust. He saw Ralph Spina dabbing at a newly sewed sound with an alcohol swab, and he let go of the breath he was holding. Her face was gaunt and tired, the dirt stuck to her beautiful cheeks, the small brown flecks accentuating the pallor of her skin. A catheter was taped in the crease of her elbow, delivering much needed plasma to try and reverse the effects of her blood loss.

"Are you okay?" He exclaimed, announcing his presence. She looked up at him slowly, a small smile playing on the right side of her lips. She gave him a weak nod as she blinked lazily, and looked back to Dr. Spina. His eyes flicked to the newly arrived paratrooper, and a sly grin passed over his face.

"Almost finished, D." He announced genially. He turned to the table behind him and produced a white cotton bandage. Lifting her arm gently, he wrapped it over her wound gently and tied it with his deft fingers. He placed his hand on her shoulder lightly. "Just hang out here for a few more hours. You need to let your body replenish some of that blood you lost, okay?" She smiled at him kindly as he rose from his seat and stepped to the foot of her bed.

"No problem, Ralph." She said sweetly. "I really appreciate your help." He put his hands in his pockets bashfully, unaccustomed to being thanked for his services.

"Any time." He nodded to Chuck as he moved to exit the area. "Sergeant Grant." He said kindly as he acknowledged his fellow easy soldier, nodding in his direction.

"Thanks, Spina." Chuck said to the medic as he drew the curtains around her bed to give her some privacy while she rested. Chuck looked to Diana, his eyes full of concern. "What happened?" He asked her, some of the urgency gone from his voice. She grimaced as she lay back against the stiff pillows of her bed, and she adjusted her body to take the pressure off the wound.

"The Germans cut the only road leading in and out of the town I was in. Somehow, they heard there was resistance activity going on there, and they went on a witch hunt of sorts. Vaughn and Aramis got there just in time to extract me." Fear filled his face again, and he knew she was leaving out significant details of the encounter. He thought about asking her to elaborate, but he knew it would be futile. Whether they were important or not, she would hide behind the veil of secrecy of her unit.

"Were you hit anywhere else?" He asked. She shook her head.

"This is just a graze. It would have been fine, but we had to keep moving as quickly as we could, and this was the first American stronghold we could get to. I'll be alright, I just need to let my body recover." He took a deep breath and took her hand in his, clutching it tightly against the sheets. His other hand moved to her pillow as his fingers worked themselves into her hair. He sat on the edge of her bed and looked her over. His face was pained, as though he was waging an internal battle with himself. She narrowed her eyes in confusion.

"Chuck?" She asked softly. "What's going on?" His eyes met hers. He was silent for a moment.

"When I heard you were hit, I just…" His eyes fell to their clasped hands, and she saw the relief as it permeated his features. He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes again. "I'm just really happy you're okay." She smiled at him softly and rubbed her thumb over the rough skin of his knuckles. He bent over and pressed a kiss to her forehead, his hand still holding hers, his fingers still in her hair. She lifted her uninjured arm and brushed her thumb over his cheek. Her eyes locked onto his, and they stared at each other for a few moments. She tugged gently on his neck, and guided him to her. She pressed her lips against his softly as her eyes fluttered closed. He hovered there for a moment, the sensitive skin brushing over hers lightly. He sighed and leaned into her, claiming her mouth with his fully.

He lifted his head and rested his forehead against hers, their eyes closed and breathing shallow. Her hand cupped his jaw line, her thumb resting lightly on his chin. He was supporting head, his fingers tangled in her hair as his breath floated across her cheeks. They stayed there, quietly holding each other in the empty aid station, relieved they were alive, content in their embrace, and silent in their fear of what lay ahead.

* * *

She sat in Colonel Sink's office, the all too familiar waiting period for another meeting with him. They had showered and changed into fresh tactical gear, and she relished the feeling of the soft cashmere against her palms. The door opened suddenly as Sink entered, greeting them in the gruff but friendly manner that was so uniquely his. She was very tired, the sudden burst of energy she found after her shower was fading quickly, and she hoped this would be over soon so she could finally get some rest. Sink asked what they had to report, and Vaughn wasted no time.

The situation in Belgium was grim. Most of the networks in the eastern region of the country had been dissolved. Their assets were either discovered, or had disavowed themselves from the agency for fear of their families. They were terrified, and they had good reason to be. The S.S. had been on a witch-hunt for resistance assets and informants, torturing and killing anyone who was suspected of having any connection with the Allies. The networks in Brussels and Antwerp were still strong and well functioning, which was likely fueled by their anger at the treatment of their countrymen to the east. The Germans, however, were making it increasingly difficult for the assets and informants to move the intelligence out of the country safely, so the reports were coming at intervals that were few and far between. It was looking more and more likely that the Germans would overrun the American forces stationed there, especially those in the Ardennes forest which lined the German border. He and Aramis had barely extracted Diana from a small town there before the S.S. invaded, and they doubted many civilians survived.

Sink took this information in silently, watching the map carefully as Vaughn pointed out the positions. He stared ahead for a few moments after Vaughn finished speaking, trying to process everything he had heard before deciding how to proceed. He excused himself from his office for a moment, claiming he needed to call General McAuliffe who was the acting Commander in General Taylor's absence. Vaughn assured him they would wait, and that he should take all the time he needed.

They stood there in his office quietly. Vaughn kept his eyes glued to the map, lost in thought as he pressed pins into different areas so as to expedite the rest of their briefing when the colonel returned. She was leaning against the Colonel's desk, watching as Vaughn worked. The amount of red pins he was using to signify Nazi positions caused the anxiety to bubble up inside of her, and she was reminded of how narrowly they escaped from Belgium. They heard the door open again, but rather than the return of the Colonel, another man stood in the doorway. He was taken aback, clearly not expecting to see anyone in the office. Aramis regarded him passively, and continued to watch Vaughn press pins into the map.

"Can I help you?" He asked suspiciously. She recognized him as Lieutenant Norman Dike, the newly appointed commander of Easy company.

"No thank you, Lieutenant." She responded. "We're just waiting for the colonel to return." Dike narrowed his eyes, clearly not impressed that the female in the room was addressing him while the male all but ignored his presence.

"And what business do you have with the Colonel, exactly?" He asked condescendingly. Aramis cocked her eyebrow and stared at him.

"That's privileged information. If Colonel Sink chooses to share it with you when we've concluded our briefing that will be his prerogative." She replied, her tone measured and tense.

"I beg your pardon, but I have a right to know what is happening in the command post of my regiment." He demanded. Her eyes flitted to him dangerously. She stood up, pulling her shoulders back as she faced him.

"You are not entitled to anything, Lieutenant." She said enunciating his rank. "This is not YOUR regiment." She had struck a nerve.

"Excuse me?! Do you know who I am?"

"Lieutenant Norman Dike, graduate of the OCS in 1942, formerly the S-2 Intelligence Officer of Division Headquarters, and newly appointed Easy Company C.O. You have nepotistic connections with some high-ranking Brass, which is how you were able to sneak into the position of company commander without having to first lead a platoon, and with little to no experience on the battlefield. Your lack of knowledge as to who I am or what we are doing here is indicative that you failed in your previous post, and were sent here to get combat experience as a way to redeem yourself." She fired back at him. She caught Vaughn's attention, and he watched them carefully. Dike's eyes narrowed at her dangerously.

"And you are?" She was about to retort when Sink came back in the room. He looked at the Lieutenant with surprise and checked his watch.

"Dike. You're early. If you'll excuse me I need to wrap up with Major Craft and Captain Stark, here. I'll be with you as soon as I'm finished." Dike's face paled.

"Uh.. Yes sir." Aramis watched him leave, her eyes like daggers as he turned to walk from the room. She turned back to Vaughn who was gesturing back at the table, showing Colonel Sink the additions to the German positions.

"I just got off the phone with General McAuliffe. It looks like the Germans are already closing in on this area in the Ardennes, but they don't see any need for us to get involved just yet. Apparently, the commanders of the 28th and 4th Infantry divisions are confident they can hold the line. I appreciate you coming here and relaying this to me. I'll pass it on up the chain and see if it can do some good." They nodded and moved to exit. "Any chance you'll be taking a break sometime soon?" He asked genially.

"We're headed to Paris to help the French government get set back up. But I don't think that will last long. I imagine we'll be back in Belgium sooner than any of us would like." Vaughn replied as they exited his office.

"Well, we'll keep an eye out for you." He said kindly as they stood in the doorway. "Thank you again for your help. You take good care of yourselves, now." Sink said with a firm handshake. He motioned to Lieutenant Dike who stood in the hallway, still fuming over his interaction with Aramis. Sink glanced between the two parties as Aramis kept her face neutral. Vaughn continued down the hallway toward the exit with Aramis following a few paces behind.


	8. From Snow to Snow

**Authors Note: **Thank you to bloodredcherry for the wonderful reviews. I appreciate your feedback, and it was wonderful to hear from you.

**Authors Note 2: **I don't own any of this, except my Original Characters. I'm also not making any money, so it doesn't really matter.

On to the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

**All We Cannot See**

**Chapter 8: From Snow to Snow**

She had been staring at the same piece of paper for the last 2 hours, trying to wrap her head around some way to make things work. The hit to their networks in Belgium earlier that month was hard felt, and it was seriously jeopardizing the developments of the networks in Germany. Their assets were scared, and they had every right to be, but there had to be some way to get better handlers and information channels without spreading the team too thin. She knew Belgium had become something of a wasteland, the once beautiful country known for its chocolate and beautiful scenery reduced to a battleground littered with the decaying corpses of Germans and Allies alike. But she hadn't heard much in the way of specifics, and it was starting to wear on her. Vaughn was conspicuously absent, handing her increasing amounts of "busy work," keeping her occupied and out of meetings, especially where any mention of combat was concerned. He was constantly drawn and tired, and she was getting more and more frustrated with him as time moved on.

She stared at the paper, stretching to the furthest corners of her mind, trying to work out a potential solution to the problem that had so effortlessly evaded her. She looked at the clock, the hours and minutes striking her. It was late even for her, and she noticed that everyone around her had long since left for the day. Her desk was close to Vaughn's office, and she noticed that it was the only other place on the entire floor that was still occupied. She heard his voice through the thin walls, the deep baritone echoing through the empty space. She heard familiar words, and her ears perked up. She rose from her desk as the things she was able to pick up piqued her interest, and she inched closer until she was able to make out his half of the conversation.

"So they're completely surrounded? Is Ike doing anything about it?... That's a bullshit excuse and you know it, David. I warned them this would happen….. Yes, Aramis and I told Sink at Mourmelon in early December. He assured us that the commanders of the 28th and the 4th had things under control, and now I hear they aren't even there anymore?... David, they're asking too much. I can't send someone to infiltrate the front line, there's no plausible cover. I could certainly go in and pose as one of them for a little while, but at what expense?... No, I know that wasn't what you were implying, but you understand my meaning?... Right, but David, intelligence isn't going to win this fight for them, supplies will, and that's well outside the sphere of our influence. This is about their officers saying fuck all to their training and not wanting to take responsibility for it. I'm not taking that on…. Besides, we're being redeployed to Alsace next month…. Yes…. Yes… I understand… Yes, sir. I know… I appreciate that… Alright… You as well… Thank you…. Good night."

She stood outside and listened to his conversation. She knew it was wrong, a complete violation of his privacy, but he had trained her to violate people's privacy, to draw information from sources without being noticed, and it had become like second nature to her. The mentions of Colonel Sink, Mourmelon, and the two divisions of infantry carried a specific implication: The 506th Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division had been deployed to Bastogne. The collective pieces of the conversation led her to infer that the situation had become dire, and Vaughn was desperately trying to keep it from her. She heard his tired sigh from behind the oak door that separated them, and she could see him running his hands over his face in her mind. She raised her hand and knocked softly, and heard his deadpan voice call for her to come in. She stared at him as she stood in the doorway. He took one look at her face, full of worry, and he knew the jig was up.

"How much did you hear?" He asked, his voice echoing his fatigue. She shrugged casually and entered his office, taking a seat in the chair in front of his desk.

"My ears perked up when I heard the word 'surrounded.' You mentioned Sink's name and any hope of me not eavesdropping was lost." He looked at her with an unimpressed face. She shrugged at him defensively. "Hey! You trained me…" He chuckled sardonically. "How bad is it, Vaughn?" He was quiet. "Don't bullshit me. I know you've been keeping me out of the meetings, but now that I've heard some of it, I'll just go through your files to find out what I want to know as soon as you leave." He shook his head, both in frustration, and as an admission that he knew she wasn't kidding, and that she would find out the information one way or another. He sighed deeply and leaned his elbows on the desk.

"The 506th is dug in on the front lines of the Ardennes forest, near the crossroads town we extracted Diana from."

"Bastogne." She said, her face hard. He nodded.

"They have some support from the 82nd Airborne, and elements of the 10th Armored, but they're completely surrounded." She sighed and clenched her fists. "What's worse, they weren't properly supplied before they shipped out. Apparently the lieutenant you scuffled with in Sink's office, Dike, he let them deploy without proper winter clothing, rations, or ammo supply. David says some of them are down to 1 round per man, and their food supply is dwindling rapidly. They're using a church in the town of Bastogne as an aid station, but they're taking heavy casualties and there doesn't appear to be any relief coming anytime soon. Apparently the Air Force refuses to make a supply drop in the weather. It's been snowing non-stop since they arrived in mid-December." She was seething.

"And there's nothing we can do to help them?" She asked critically.

"You heard what I said to David. It's outside the sphere of our influence. Even if we could bring them some kind of intelligence, they couldn't mount an offensive. They don't have the manpower or the ammunition."

"We can't just let them die out there, Vaughn."

"What would you suggest, Aramis?"

"We need to try and help! We can try to get at least something to them!"

"And how, exactly, do you plan to do that? Hitch a ride with a Luftwaffe and then hijack his plane?"

"That's a better plan than sitting here in Paris and doing nothing while they freeze to death." She countered. He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face.

"It's not our responsibility, Aramis." He said, his voice softer.

"Yes, Vaughn. It is. We're a support team. We work in secret intelligence. If there is anyone in the world who can get the things they need past enemy lines, it's us."

"It's too much of a risk, I'm sorry."

"This is bullshit, Vaughn. You were fine with the uncalculated risk of our lives, their lives, and the lives of our networks to save 140 Brits who willingly ignored our advice and charged off into a ridiculous plan that failed. But you won't even consider the calculable, and easily measured risk of one or two lives to save hundreds of our countrymen? Is that a fucking joke?" His face hardened, and he stared at her with equal parts pride and challenge. He leaned back in his office chair with a wry grin.

"Tell you what. We have to be in Liege in one week to salvage what's left of the Belgian networks before we move on to Alsace. As long as you're there on January 7th, I will turn a blind eye to whatever you choose to do in the interim, but I don't want to hear about it. Understand?" She nodded vigorously. "Go pack." She stood from her seat and rushed out of his office. "Aramis." He called to her. She turned. "Be. Careful. They're our friends, and I know you want to help, but I need you more than they do. Your life is worth more than some rations and a few bullets. Okay?" She smiled at him softly. "Promise me."

"I promise, Vaughn. I'll be careful." She dashed away from his office, yanking her purse from her desk and rushing out into the chill of the Parisian night. He watched her as she flew away, a combination of dark hair and fierce determination, and he silently prayed he had made the right decision.

* * *

Ice crystals hung in the frozen Belgian air as the sun began to dip lower on the horizon. The frigid temperatures had only gotten worse as the days marched into the New Year, removing men from the already sparsely guarded line at a rate that seemed to be ever increasing. On the whole, their outlook was bleak. Lieutenant Dike's oversight of supplies prior to their deployment had cost them dearly, and many men had as little as one round with which to defend themselves against the incessant attacks and barrages from the Germans. Worse still was the supply of their medics. Eugene Roe had done his best to scrounge what little supplies he could from the town of Bastogne and the other battalions, and much to his chagrin, from the other members of Easy Company. Sickness and trench foot were rampant. Joe Toye was in danger of losing his left foot after his boots had been lost in one of the many attacks. Babe Heffron's cough could be heard from a mile away, and it showed no signs of getting any better. Their food rations were dwindling, and many of the NCO's had gone hungry for a few nights to try to keep the morale of their men at a heightened level, as lukewarm beans with stale bread was one of the small comforts they were able to provide.

Don Malarkey sat in his foxhole, huddled next to Skip Muck and George Luz, desperately trying to keep warm and monitor the line for any activity. Their foxhole was situated further back, as Lipton had given a brief respite from the front of the line for a few hours.

"How in hell is it so cold, and it's still daytime?" Luz murmured to no one in particular.

"Yeah, I'm definitely not looking forward to tonight." Muck replied. Don shook his head, trying to put the thoughts of the oncoming cold from his mind. There was a pause, the silence hanging between them. "It looks like it might snow again." He continued, "So the army and the Air Force probably won't be coming in any time soon. Hope you boys aren't sick of beans yet." Don sighed.

"Give it a rest, Skip." He mumbled.

"What's up your butt, Malarkey? Been doing some shifts with Cobb I haven't heard about?" Don shook his head, and turned his gaze back on the line. He didn't respond. He didn't have the energy. He, like Lipton, Winters, Guarnere and Talbert, had gone without food for a few days to make sure there was enough to go around for the rest of the men, most of whom were replacements. He had been drinking as much coffee as he could get his hands on to try and fill his stomach and warm himself, so he also hadn't gotten much sleep. His mood was foul and his patience was dangerously thin.

"I don't really want to hear anymore of your..." Don started to say.

"Hey guys, shut up..." Luz interrupted, turning his body around away from the line, and holding up a hand to silence them. "Do you hear that?" All three men sat quietly, tuning their ears for any sounds that would seem out of place.

"It sounds like a... Jeep?" Muck said, squinting his eyes, and turning his body in the same direction as Luz.

"No no, this sounds heavier." Luz replied. "It sounds like a truck." Don strained his eyes in the direction the sound was coming from. In the distance, through the fog, he could see the outline of a dark green truck rumbling towards them. He leapt to action immediately.

"Luz, go grab Lip, Nix, and Winters. Muck, come with me to check this out." Both men nodded. Luz rushed away with his head ducked down to get the Lieutenant and respective Captains, while Muck followed to provide back up. Apparently they weren't the only ones who had heard the disturbance, as they were soon joined in the woods by Guarnere, Grant, Talbert, and Liebgott.

"What do you think it is?" Grant asked the group.

"No clue. But I'm not waiting around to find out." Liebgott responded, raising his rifle.

"Lieb, you can't just fire on the truck. What if it's a supply drop?" Talbert protested.

"There ain't no supplies to drop. I'm not going to fire, but I'm certainly not going to get caught with my pants around my ankles and my dick in my hand." The others considered this for a split second, and then followed suit, raising their rifles in a defensive position to safeguard against whatever might be in that truck.

It rumbled towards them, slowly and deliberately, taking the terrain as it came. Luz appeared with Nix, Winters and Lipton in tow.

"Men..." Winters addressed them, slightly out of breath from jogging over. "What do we have?"

"Not sure yet, sir" Guarnere responded. "But I have a feeling we're about to find out."

The truck was directly ahead of them now, not 20 feet from where they stood. With weapons raised, they slowly began to approach. No one said a word, the only sound came from the snow crunching beneath their boots. They stopped a few feet from the truck, which had come to a halt, its tires sinking into the snow.

"Commenze-hier." Winters commanded in his Americanized German. "Schnell." The door to the truck swung open, causing the men to raise their rifles to meet whomever may exit.

"Really, Winters..." A familiar voice rang out through the trees. "Your German is absolutely terrible." The driver rounded the side of the truck, and came into their view.

"Aramis...?" Nixon whispered in disbelief.

"Jesus Christ. You guys look awful." There was a moment of stunned silence where the slack jawed and harrowed members of Easy Company tried to comprehend what they were seeing.

"Aramis..." Nix was the first to recover, taking the distance between himself and his childhood friend in two long strides before swooping her into a hug that lifted her from the ground. He set her down after a few moments, and took her face I his hands. "Jesus Christ, I never thought I would be so damn happy to see your scrawny little ass." He pulled her in for another hug, pressing his lips to her cheek. "What the fuck are you doing out here in the middle of the Belgian forest?" He asked, pulling away. She smirked at him.

"Well..." She said as she moved away from Nix and toward the back of the truck."A little birdie told me that Lieutenant Dick royally screwed you in terms of supplies. The same birdie also told me that because of this damnable weather and the movements of the Germans that the Army hasn't been able to drop any supplies to you in almost a month." She grabbed the handle of the trucks back door. "I couldn't have you boys retreating again, now could I?" She swung the door open, revealing loads of ammunition. Bullets, grenades, mortars, bazookas and extra rifles were piled and stacked to the brim in the back of the truck. "I also heard you were low on food, winter clothing, and medical supplies, so there's some of that thrown in too." More stunned silence followed her words as the men took it all in. From her right, Captain Winters, who usually regarded her with a measure of respectful distance, turned from the truck and pulled her into a hug so strong it threatened to cease her breathing. Guarnere recovered himself, and let out a cheer of excitement that hadn't been heard from him since they began holding the line in the hellish Belgian forest. The others joined him, their raucous jubilation acting as a release of the fear and tension they had been holding onto for as long as they could remember. The noise had attracted other members of the company. Releasing her from his embrace, Winters started to address the men while holding firmly onto Aramis' shoulder.

"Listen up. Start getting this stuff unloaded, boys. Distribute the ammo as a first priority. Then bring the rations and food up to battalion so we can take an inventory and see what we've got." He turned back to her. Nodded again in thanks, and started to walk back to battalion, noticeably lighter than when he had first arrived. Nix followed, grabbing her shoulder as he passed.

"You're a godsend." He said, kissing her forehead and turning to follow Winters.

She was immediately swallowed by the arms of Bill Guarnere.

"Aramis Stark, you amazing, wonderful, beautiful, perfect woman!" He all but screamed in her ear. She could do little but laugh and allow herself to be overtaken by their joy. She was soon enveloped in the arms of Grant, Talbert, Luz, and Guarnere, in a group hug whose exuberance soon had them all rolling in the snow amongst tangled limbs and gasps of desperate laughter.

"All right! All right! Lay off, guys I can't breathe." She huffed between laughs, play shoving them away from her. She lay there in the snow, on her back, giggling, and staring up at the sky. She tilted her head downward and saw Don with his hand extended to her. She took the offer, pushing herself off the ground as he pulled her to her feet and into his arms.

"You're amazing." He whispered to her. The beard he had been growing was rough against her cheek as he hugged him back, mirroring some of the fierceness in his embrace. She released him, and faced everyone as they began to unload the truck per Winters' orders. Lipton approached her.

"Aramis." He said, pulling her into a hug and giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek in greeting.

"Hey Lip." She smiled.

"Where did you get all of this stuff?" She chuckled.

"You know, a little here, a little there..." She said evasively.

"Hey, why do these boxes have German inscriptions on them?" Liebgott interjected from the back of the truck. All eyes turned to Aramis who was beaming.

"I may have knocked over a German supply truck. Or two." She said with a casual shrug.

"Looks like we've got ourselves an intelligence officer who doubles as a highwayman." Buck Compton joked, arms full of mortar rounds. She laughed and turned toward Don who was carrying boxes of grenades and had several lines of machine gun bullets slung over his shoulder.

"Here, let me help you with those." She said, taking the lines and falling in step next to him. They were quiet for a few moments as they walked, their heavy boots crunching against the newly fallen snow. The forest was silent, the beautiful muted hush that accompanied heavy snowfalls and reminded Aramis of her childhood.

"How are you holding up?" she asked softly.

"We're doing alright." He replied with a small smile. "Much better, now that we've got some shit to throw back." He joked, lightly jostling the box of mortars in his hands. She chuckled softly.

"And you?"

"I'm fine." He said quickly. She raised her eyebrow and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"You don't look fine, Don." She said gently.

"Lieutenant Welsh said it best. War is hell."

"I'm pretty sure William Sherman said that long before Lieutenant Welsh." She joked. "Are you okay?" He sighed, not sure how to answer her question. He shifted the box of mortars to one hand, balancing it against his hip as he slowed his pace.

"I am now." He said with a smile as he put his arm across her shoulders. She laughed aloud, the musical tone hushed by the heavy snows that fell around them, and wrapped her arm around his waist as they trudged along toward the front lines.

They spent the rest of the walk in silence, dropping the mortar rounds off with Muck and Penkala, and the machine gun rounds to Christiansen and Toye, all the while exchanging hushed thanks, hugs, and clearly elevated morale.

They found themselves back in the communal area, off the line, and teeming with soldiers, re-energized after hearing of the impromptu supply drop. She found herself chatting with Lipton and George as Joe Dominguez happily started to prepare the most robust meal for his charges since their arrival. Don felt a lightness, both in the air and in himself as he chuckled with Skip. It was as if someone had taken a weight off of his shoulders, and he started to feel like he might make it out of the frozen forest and see normal civilization again. He saw her out of the corner of his eye, smiling with his comrades and laughing, integrating seamlessly as though she had been with them the entire time.

He heard it before anybody else. That, or his reflexes were more sensitive given all the coffee he had been drinking to make up for his lack of food. The familiar and terrifying whistle of an incoming mortar shell pierced the air. The world slowed down, as if everything was moving in slow motion. He saw everyone duck, assuming a defensive position, and begin springing to their respective fox holes. He saw Lip screaming at everyone to take cover, his arms waving them down and into their foxholes. It was like second nature at this point, to duck and dodge incoming enemy fire. He put his hands over his head, and began to sprint.

She heard it without realizing what it meant. She hadn't been around mortars in this capacity since they left Aldbourne. She saw everyone duck and run, taking off for their respective covers to assume defensive positions, especially given their newly acquired ammunition. The trees around her began to explode with the oncoming fire. Lipton was waving everyone to their foxholes, yelling in his commanding yet caring way to take cover and protect themselves. She was frozen in the moment, unable to move, observing the awesome terror of the situation in which she found herself. She was pulled from her reverie by a body slamming into hers, dragging her from her feet for a few paces before she was thrown to the ground. She opened her eyes as a huge weight landed on top of her, and she stared wide-eyed into the depths of Don Malarkey's dark brown eyes.

The trees continued to explode over their heads, and they were showered with splinters of bark and pine needles. He was yelling something incomprehensible to her, and it was becoming clearer that she was in shock. He shook her and looked into her eyes, "ARAMIS" he yelled, trying to refocus her attention. She shook her head, and her eyes regained focus. "Hold still!" He placed his helmet on her head. Another mortar went off, dangerously close to their cover. Instinctively, he ducked his head down, so his cheek was flush with hers, his body tensing with every blast. "It's going to be okay." He said in her ear, though whether it was for her comfort or his, she wasn't sure. The blasts came more and more frequently, and crept closer and closer to their cover. She wrapped her arms around his torso, and buried her face in the crook of his neck, gripping the fabric of his jacket in her fists so tightly she was sure she had ripped the thick canvas with her fingernails.

Her breathing was ragged and sporadic against his neck. He ducked his head lower, trying to cover as much of her body with his own, ensuring that even if the worst happened and a mortar landed in their cover, that he might still shield her from some of the blast. In those moments when first the shells were coming toward them, he could only think of getting her to safety. His rifle had fallen from his hands as he picked her up and dragged her into his foxhole, disregarding its well being in favor of hers. He felt debris showering against his exposed neck. The flaking splinters of pine pricked at the sensitive skin around his spine, the sap causing the pieces to stick to the places where they landed. There were cold chunks of ice and snow, melting as they touched his warmth, and clumps of dirt intermingling with the rest. The barrage stopped suddenly, the booming of the mortars and artillery echoing in the silence of the empty woods. Don heard Lipton's voice ringing out, calling for everyone to stay in their foxholes. The Germans were likely just trying to draw them out, and they should hold their positions. There were no cries for a medic, and Don desperately hoped that they had managed to stay safe, and that for once they would make it through an attack without an injury or a casualty.

They stayed exactly where they were. She was terrified to move, and she held onto Don so tightly she was losing feeling in her fingers. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she willed her breathing to return to a steady pace. She felt his weight on top of her pinning her to the frozen ground at the bottom of his foxhole. His head was flush with hers, and she could once again feel his rough beard against her cheek. She heard his voice drop to a whisper as the barrage stopped and the echoes faded, telling her it was going to be okay, that she was alright, and that he wouldn't let anything happen to her, his breath floating over her ear as he spoke. She felt her panic subside as he repeated his words, her breath slowing and becoming more even as the silence in the woods stretched on. She relaxed her grip on his jacket, opening and closing her fists to work the tension out of her joints, and opened her eyes slowly. She looked up and saw the cloudy sky, the flakes of snow winding their way down to earth whimsically, and she exhaled a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding. She felt his weight shift. He lifted his torso, pushing himself up on to his arms. He looked at her face, his eyebrows furrowed with worry.

"Aramis?" He said softly. "Aramis, are you alright?" His voice was insistent and full of concern. He pushed himself to his knees, kneeling over her legs, and started looking her over, checking for any indication that she was injured. She shook her head quickly, bringing herself back to focus, and returned his gaze.

"Y...yeah. I'm fine." She breathed. Her arms were at her sides, and she lifted her head to take in her surroundings. She looked back to Don, and smiled softly, seeing how disheveled they had both become. The wool cap he wore under his helmet to keep himself warm had shifted in his desperate attempt to put his helmet on her head, and it was clinging to the left side of his head for dear life, letting the grown-out red hair stick out in all different directions where it had sprung free. She giggled. "You're a mess." She said. He looked at her in confusion, not catching her meaning at first. He felt his head and noticed the cap. His face broke out into a wide smile. His eyes closed as he started to laugh, righting the cap on his head with both hands. They sat there, in a foxhole, on the front line of the Allied offensive line in the Ardennes Forest, laughing like teenagers who were drunk for the first time. They were drunk, but not in the way one would imagine. They were flooded with a relief so powerful it overcame their control of their emotions. Relief that they had survived; relief that no one had called for a medic; relief that they were doing okay, despite all the horrific things she had heard before her arrival; relief that she made it to them, in spite of the danger she put herself in to secure the supplies she brought; relief that she would risk everything to try to help them, even when it seemed like their own government wouldn't; and a relief that some of them might make it through the war.

Don leaned back against the sidewall of his foxhole, his eyes over his hands as he laughed aloud. Aramis tucked her feet in toward her body, allowing Don to sit back on his heels. She lay there, looking up at the sky and laughing, her body shaking against the frozen ground and sending puffs of new snow up and down as she bounced. Tears began to fall from the corners of her eyes as she laughed, and she rolled onto her stomach as she began to lose her breath. Buck Compton found them there, curled into little balls of infectious laughter, and found himself giggling as well. She gazed up at him when he called her name, and started laughing harder at the look on his face. She took his outstretched hand, and he pulled her from the bottom of the foxhole with one arm, still chuckling. She stood there and watched Don climb out of his foxhole, still overcome with laughter. When Bill approached and asked what was so funny, she fell to her knees laughing again. Bill looked to Buck in confusion, seeking an answer for why their favorite O.S.S. operative and platoon technical sergeant were reduced to fits of giggles at the front line. Buck just shrugged casually and continued on his way, checking to make sure everything was right with the rest of his men. Bill cocked an eyebrow and watched his friends recover from their laughter, wiping tears from their eyes and holding their stomachs as they tried to regain their composure.

"Jesus Christ…" He muttered under his breath as he walked away, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, leaving the two of them to their hysterics.

Through his laughter, Don knew he needed to get her away from the line. The shelling was a close call, and standing here giggling like idiots was a pretty great way to catch a round from a sniper. He took her elbow and guided her in the direction of the C.P. station. He knew Winters and Nixon would want to speak to her before she left, and the sooner she got out of there, the better off she would be. The men were assembling for an early dinner that night, the camp was alive with excitement they hadn't seen in the months since they first arrived. A cheer erupted as they came closer, with each man hollering and clapping for Aramis as she wound her way through them. Not one to seek out attention, she ducked her head and kept walking, shaking the hands as they were extended to her, whispering 'You're welcome' whenever someone thanked her, and 'Stop' whenever someone told her how amazing she was.

Captain Nixon hugged her again when she arrived, holding her closely and whispering in her ear. A smile broke out over her face, and she pulled away from him slightly, looking him in the eye and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a brotherly fashion before letting her go. Winters pulled her in to another embrace, though this one was stiffer than the last. She returned it, and told him not to thank her. She looked at the company of men before her and told them to stay safe, and to not use all the ammo in one place.

After she had hugged every last one of them, bade them all goodbye more times than she could count, and the sun dropped below the horizon, she stood in front of the truck that brought her to them, holding the door handle and looking at the contingent of men that had been tasked as her escort.

"I mean it, boys. Be safe." She said, looking into the eyes of Chuck, Bill, and Don respectively.

"We will, Boo. We will." Bill said, pulling her into another hug.

"I mean it, Bill. No more of this 'Wild Boy' bullshit I keep hearing about." She scolded. He looked at her with feigned offense. "And you know I'll hear about it. So don't do it." He laughed and pinched her cheek, causing her to swat his hand away. Chuck held her next, pressing a soft, brotherly kiss to her cheek.

"Tell Diana I say hello?" He asked. She giggled.

"Do you really think I'll last more than 5 minutes in the same room with her before I get the third degree about your condition and your whereabouts?" Aramis asked sarcastically as she held onto him tightly. She felt him chuckle against her as he released his hold. She turned to Don. He smiled at her softly and pulled her into his arms. She fell into his embrace comfortably, encircling her arms around his waist and closing her eyes. She felt the scruff of his beard against her hairline as they squeezed one another and his soft breaths as they floated through her hair. He pressed his lips to her temple and whispered his feelings of gratitude into her ear, telling her how thankful he was and that she should be safe on her trip back. She pulled away and cupped her hand around his cheek.

"Don't worry about me." She said with a soft smile. She turned away from them and climbed into the truck, hoisting herself into the driver's seat and starting the engine. They watched her as she drove off, each of them praying she returned to her unit safely, and hoping their turn to drive away would come soon.

* * *

Hopefully you enjoyed. As always, I'd love to hear from you. Thanks again for your continued support and readership.


	9. Vaughn's Song

**Authors Note 1: **Thank you again to bloodredcherry for the excellent reviews. I appreciate the feedback, and it's nice to know the story is being read and appreciated.

**Authors Note 2:** I know I've been jumping around a little bit in terms of time, and there are certain gaps that the show highlights heavily that I'm glossing over. I didn't want to "re-write" Band of Brothers from my own perspective, rather I wanted to use their experiences as a framework for my own interpretation of what could have happened. I've tried to bring up and focus on things that weren't a large area of focus on the show/in the book as you will see over the next few chapters. This will ebb away (slightly) as the story nears its end, but will continue to be the theme throughout the rest of our time with the boys and the girls.

**Authors Note 3: **Due diligence. No copyright infringement. I own Aramis and my OC's. Don't sue me. I'm not making any money.

**Authors Note 4:** {Insert the plea to leave a review that falls on deaf ears here}

Enjoy!

* * *

**All We Cannot See**

**Chapter 9:** Vaughn's Song

He was sick of snow. If he never saw the floating white tufts of frozen water again in his life, Don Malarkey would be the happiest man on the face of the earth. It swirled past him as he looked down the main street of the town of Rachamps, his gaze settling on the Hôtel de Ville, which was balancing rather precariously on half its foundation, the other half lying in crumbled bits of clay and stone on the ground next to it. The streets were smoking with still-burning fires hours after their assault had concluded. Men were walking around, the urgency beaten from them by the harsh conditions and the lack of rest. The only person who seemed to have any energy was Captain Nixon, and Don wasn't sure why. Don approached him, his brow furrowing.

"Captain Nixon, sir?" He asked. "Is everything alright?" Nixon looked to him, the concern clearly showing in his face.

"I can't find the god damn field hospital. Where are they set up?" Don was confused.

"Uh, I saw Doc Roe heading down the main drag, just past the Hôtel de Ville about an hour ago sir. Maybe you should check there?" Nixon cocked his head.

"You haven't heard…" Don raised an eyebrow.

"Heard what, sir?" Nixon shook his head.

"Come with me." He strode off, Don right on his heels.

They found the field hospital easily enough. Following the cries of pain, the smell of alcohol and the dreadful aura of death wasn't difficult. Nixon stepped past the canvas, and looked to Spina.

"Where is she?" He said sharply. Spina jumped, and pointed to his right. Don's stomach sank. Nixon hurried in the direction of Spina's outstretched hand, flipping the drawn canvas back and stepping into the makeshift hospital room. Don was behind him, his rifle slung over his shoulder and his helmet in his hand. Aramis was sitting on a table, her right arm resting on Roe's lap as he wound a needle and thread through her skin.

"Jesus Christ…" Nixon sighed. Her eyes flitted up to him. They were glazed over and unfocused, but it wasn't from a syrette. Her mouth was drawn, her face emotionless. "Aramis, what happened?" Nixon demanded. She sighed.

"Business end of a butterfly knife." She said softly. Roe's dark eyes glanced at her. He paused and then went back to his work.

"Are you okay?" Don asked, moving to stand at Nixon's left. Her eyes stayed looking at the table.

"Fine." She whispered again, not meeting his eyes. Doc Roe snorted indignantly.

"You're lucky to be alive, and you know it." He admonished.

"It wasn't that deep." She said softly, as if she were a child.

"Any deeper and you would have hit your liver." She rolled her eyes and sighed. She refocused and stared at him hard, pursing her lips angrily.

"Yeah, well, let's just hope Vaughn has the same luck I do. Are we done?" She said severely. Doc glared at her. He grabbed a brown bottle from the shelf behind him, pulled the cap away and poured it over her stitches. She inhaled sharply, slammed her eyes shut, and held her breath. She exhaled jaggedly, opening her eyes slowly, and shot Roe a death glare.

"That was uncalled for." She said dangerously.

"You'll thank me when you don't get sepsis." He said, winding a cotton bandage around her arm. He had just finished tying the dressing off before she stood and reached for her coat, brushing past Nixon and Don as if they were strangers in her way.

"Aramis." Nixon called after her. "Hey! Aramis!" He grabbed her elbow, and spun her around.

"Fuck!" She exclaimed, grabbing her arm. "Watch it Nix! Did you NOT just watch me get 15 stitches in this arm?!" He looked surprised. She turned around and kept walking, Nixon and Don following in her wake. Grant and Lipton approached.

"Captain…" Lipton started.

"Wait." Nix said abruptly, putting his hand out to them. "Aramis. What the hell is going on?!" She continued walking, ignoring Nixon's questions.

She rounded a corner, and came to the end of a hallway which was crowded with the 6 remaining members of SI-X66. They stood anxiously outside a closed door, their posture conveying they were waiting for something that didn't appear to have a positive outlook. Aramis looked to Diana.

"Anything?" She said quickly. Diana's eyes met hers. She shook her head, indicating that they hadn't received any news. Aramis closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the sadness and anxiety rippling across her features. She leaned back against the wall next to her friend, fixed her eyes on the floor, and waited with her arms crossed over her chest. Diana turned to her.

"How's your arm?" She said quietly. Aramis nodded. "And your side?" She nodded again. Diana looked to the men standing at the edge of the hallway, giving a small half-smile at Grant when she saw him.

"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!" Nixon exclaimed. Esther's eyes met his.

"Vaughn caught a sniper round in the chest en-route to deliver the most recent German reports to General Taylor. He's in emergency surgery." She said her voice flat. Nixon's body went slack and his jaw dropped. His left hand covered his eyes before falling down his face. Don's eyebrows wound themselves together as he was overwhelmed by concern for his friends.

They stood in silence, the anxiety permeating the space like an inescapable toxic gas, slowly poisoning their minds and draining what little energy they had left. The door opened abruptly, echoing a large crack through the small hallway and startling everyone. An exhausted army surgeon emerged slowly, his eyes on the ground and an unlit cigarette resting precariously between his lips. Aramis' body tensed. Her eyes fell closed as she tightened her arms around herself and waited for him to speak. Diana stood and walked to the doctor, searching his face for an answer. He said nothing, with neither his face nor with his voice.

"Well?" She said hoarsely, her impatience only outshined by her fatigue. The doctor met her eyes.

"He didn't make it." He announced. Esther slumped to the ground as her face fell into her hands. Her body began to quiver slowly as her blonde hair fell around her hands, occluding her from their few. Katherine set her elbows on her knees and buried the heels of her palms into her eyes. She took deep breaths and clenched her fingers against her forehead, whispering incoherently to herself. The others assumed similar postures, falling to the ground slowly until only Aramis and Diana were left upright. Diana spoke to the doctor and thanked him for his efforts while Aramis stood silent and unmoving with her eyes shut and arms crossed. Diana turned back to the group.

"We…" she cleared her throat. "We need to choose a new leader. Our protocol says the chain of command can't be broken." Esther looked up at Diana and stood, nodding. Katherine and the others followed suit. "We have a quorum. State your nomination. Then we vote." She looked to the women, receiving a nod from each of them. "I nominate Aramis Stark." She said confidently. She looked to Esther.

"I nominate Aramis Stark." She said.

"I nominate Aramis Stark."

"I nominate Katherine Parr." Said Katherine. Esther rolled her eyes.

"I nominate Aramis Stark."

"I nominate Aramis Stark." Diana looked to Aramis, who hadn't moved an inch.

"I think we have our decision." She said. Aramis exhaled deeply, opened her eyes and straightened her posture. She unfolded her arms, massaging the wrist on the injured side. She looked into the faces of each woman in her company, and nodded.

"We stay in Rachamps tonight." She said, her voice hoarse. "We could all use the rest. We move on to our respective missions as soon as we get the confirmation form Bern that covers are still intact." Each woman nodded in affirmation. "Take the night to deal with this as you see fit. Check in for orders tomorrow morning." Every eye in the room was on her, regarding her carefully. She looked at each of them, mustering all the confidence and authority she had left. "Excuse me." She whispered. She turned toward the row of men standing behind her and slipped between them. Don opened his mouth, as if to call out to her, but Lipton's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Let her go." He said softly before turning to Captain Nixon, addressing the matters he tried to bring to his attention earlier.

Don watched Aramis' form as it retreated down the hallway and out the door of the makeshift hospital, the large brown spirals bouncing in her ponytail as she walked.

She needed fresh air. The hospital was stifling. The thickness of the air was choking her, clogging her throat with the humidity of dozens of sweating bodies crammed into too small a space, the stench of rubbing alcohol, decomposition and bodily fluids, and the all encompassing feeling of death. The frigid winter air bit at her face. Inhaling deeply, she felt the cold burn in her lungs. She surveyed her surroundings and was met with the sight of crumbled and collapsing buildings, exhausted infantrymen, and dead bodies. She looked west toward the woods of the Ardennes, just beyond a field. She turned and set out toward them, lost in her thoughts but desperately trying not to think them.

Vaughn was gone. Her friend, mentor, and leader was dead. Her stride lengthened. She remembered the look on his face just before the round came through the jeep. Smiling and sarcastic, exactly the way she had always loved him to be. She broke into a jog. She saw the way his face changed when the bullet entered the vehicle, piercing the windshield and zipping through his chest, causing his arms to go slack, and his eyes to widen. She started to run. She remembered the feeling of the jeep veering dangerously close to the deep ditch on the side of the road, having to grab the steering wheel to steady it, and beg Vaughn to take his foot off the gas pedal if he could. She began to sprint. She remembered the faces of the German SS as they overcame the jeep, yanking Aramis from the passenger seat and throwing her to the ground, pulling the butterfly knife from his belt as he stood over where she lay on the frozen road. She saw blood, and heard the yells of her comrades as they defended themselves and their friends.

She ran. She ran into the forest until she outran her thoughts, her memories, and the incessant visions of one of her dearest friends lying lifeless in the back of a truck as they desperately tried to save him.

She collapsed to her knees. The snow crunched underneath them loudly as fell. Her hands were at her sides as she struggled for breath. Her gasps quickened. She doubled over as her face fell into the snow. She sat on her heels as she hyperventilated, and the panic and grief she had been storing away for so long finally overflowed. Tears bit at her eyes, causing them to burn as a sob ripped from her throat. She desperately tried to get her breathing under control. Her hands came to her forehead, her arms resting under her shoulders in a triangular shape. She screamed into the snow, gripping the hard frozen crystals in her fists, and she cried until her tears were dry and her fingers were frozen.

* * *

He watched her sprint off into the woods. He wanted to go after her, to make sure she was okay, but he knew Lipton was right. She needed time. She needed time to grieve, time to process, and time to feel. But the forest wasn't safe, and after everything she had done to look after them, he thought she deserved the same. He moved toward the edge of the field, trying to find a position where she would have her space, but that he could, at the very least, keep an eye on her. He could barely make her out in the forest, her black uniform standing out in the sea of white snow. She stopped running and fell to her knees. He turned his head away, trying to give her some privacy. He saw Captain Nixon approach him.

"What are you doing, Malarkey?" Don turned to face him and saluted. Nix waved him off. He had his arms across his chest, and his voice was strained. Don nodded in the direction of the field, adjusting the rifle over his shoulder.

"She took off running into the forest. I just want to make sure she's okay, sir." Nix nodded, his dark eyes softening.

"Keep an eye on her for me. This is a lot for her to take in all at once." Don bowed his head.

"Yes sir." He said. Nix was quiet for a moment, staring out across the field and into the forest, his face pensive.

"She's one of the strongest people I know."

"She's a brick, sir." Nix chuckled, his laughter carrying a tinge of sadness.

"I'm worried about her. I haven't been this entire time, even though I probably should have. But I am now."

"Worried about what sir?"

"I don't know how much more of this she can take." Don remained silent, his sights on the young woman lying in the snow. "Just keep an eye on her." Nixon stepped away. Don nodded and saluted again, receiving another dismissive wave from the Captain as he trudged back toward the abused Belgian town.

He looked out across the field again, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. It had finally stopped snowing, and the sun was beginning to peak out from behind the dense clouds overhead. It was very peaceful here, on the edge of a sleepy town bordering the battered Ardennes forest. Most of the infantry had moved into the city center, setting up command posts, aid stations, and other temporary yet necessary functions the occupying force required to sustain themselves. Therefore, there was very little traffic around him, giving him the ability to sit with his own thoughts for the first time since before their deployment to Bastogne. He thought of the things that led him to this point: the training, the fighting, the laughter, the loss... Mostly the loss. He had lost count of how many lieutenants he had served under since Toccoa. He could barely remember the number of replacements that had come and gone since D-Day. Muck and Penkala's positions would be filled with replacements soon, and Buck Compton's withdrawal would yield another lieutenant. More things to lose track of.

The loss of his friends was poignant and fresh. He could still remember the look on Doc Roe's face when he asked Don if he wanted to identify Skip's body. His stern, sharp features were drawn and anguished, the constant battle with death that came with his position clearly wearing on him. Don declined, and retreated back to his foxhole to mourn in solitude. It didn't last long. Another barrage overtook them, followed by another patrol, and then the assaults on Foy, Noville, and finally to Rachamps. He understood how she felt, and her desire to get away from prying eyes to grieve in peace. He hoped the short period she had allowed herself would be enough, though he doubted it. Only time would heal this wound.

The sun began to lower in the sky, dipping below the tree line and bringing the shadows of nightfall across the horizon. He looked back across the field, and caught the black of her uniform against the trunk of a tree. It would be dark soon, and the chill was beginning to bite at his fingers and nose. She hadn't moved for a few hours, and he was beginning to worry that something had happened to her. He walked across the field toward where she was kneeling, his boots crunching the ice-crusted snow with each step.

He found her there, in the same position she had been occupying for hours, leaning against the same tree with her elbows on her knees and the palms of her hands on her forehead. Concern knitted itself across his features. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was smooth and even. He stepped forward and knelt in front of her.

"Hey" he greeted her softly. She didn't respond, or acknowledge his presence. He waited for a moment before speaking again. "Aramis, we should head back into town." She sat quietly, off in another world, seemingly oblivious to his presence or his attempts at communicating with her.

The sunlight cut through the trees, washing her face in a golden glow. He could see the dark circles like bruises under her eyes, enunciated by the shadows cast by her long, dark eyelashes. Her cheeks were hollow, and he noticed that she had lost a great deal of weight since their time in Holland. Her lips were starting to take on a bluish tinge from being in the cold for too long, and they were set in a thin line as she sat there deep in thought. The light faded as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the forest into the beginnings of nightfall.

"Aramis, it's starting to get dark. It's going to be freezing soon, and you need to get some sleep. Plus, I know Diana will be wondering where you are."

She slowly opened her eyes. The once brilliant stormy gray was now dull and flat, and looked as though it had darkened. She stared straight ahead for a few moments, before closing them again in a sluggish blink. When they reopened, her eyes met his. She gave a great sigh, and nodded. She ran her hands over her face, and placed them on her knees, to push herself up to a standing position.

Her back slid across the bark of the tree as she rose. She suddenly cried out in pain and sunk back down a few inches.

"Aramis?! Aramis what's wrong?" Don dove forward, his left hand coming to her waist to try to steady her. Her canvas jacket was warm and sticky, an all too familiar and unwelcome feeling that made his stomach churn. He tilted his hand to the left, and saw the familiar red stain across the skin of his palm. "Aramis, what happened?!" Her eyes were squeezed shut, and he could tell she was trying to keep the rest of her face neutral.

"I'm fine." She said hoarsely. He rolled his eyes and snorted at her.

"Jesus Christ, Aramis. Would you quit the tough-guy bullshit already?" He said sharply. Her eyes flew open, and she glared at him dangerously.

"Fuck you, Don." She said disdainfully. Holding onto her side, she eased her way up onto shaky legs. When she was fully erect and upright, he took note of her. She had most certainly lost weight, the once tight elastic of her pants hanging from the backs of her knees. There were gaps between her calves and the sidewalls of her boots. Her jacket hung about her loosely, and her skin was pallid and clammy.

"You look like a ghost." He said forcefully. "Let me help you."

"I'm fine." She said stiffly. She started to move away from him, her boots crunching in the snow as she walked. Her pace was slow, her balance uneven. Don ascertained that she must have ripped open her stitches from the wound Doc had dressed before Vaughn died. He wouldn't be pleased with her.

"Aramis, seriously. Your legs are shaking. Let me help you. There's no way you'll make it back on your own two feet."

"Don, I'm fine." She said with finality. She continued her march. Her left knee wobbled slightly, and she barely caught herself before she lost her footing, her left hand shooting out to steady herself, her right still clutching her injured side.

"God damnit." He cursed. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and marched toward her. He put his arm behind her knees and swooped her up into his arms, carrying her as a groom would a bride on their wedding night.

"What the hell?" She exclaimed as she fell into his arms. "Don! Put me down!" She tried to struggle free. He tightened his grip. "God damnit Don, I'm not a child!"

"The stop acting like one and let me help you!" He looked her dead in the eye. "I'm serious, Aramis. You look like shit." She rolled her eyes.

"Such a gentleman." She said under her breath.

"Don't make me throw you over my shoulder." He threatened as he started to walk toward Rachamps. She was silent, either because she knew he would make good on his threat if she responded, or she was too tired to come up with a worthy retort. Slowly, she began to relax into his arms, uncrossing her arms and removing the scowl from her face. She rested her cheek against his chest.

"Thank you." She whispered to him softly, looking at the snow just beyond her knees. He smiled and looked down at her.

"You've been looking after us for as long as I can remember. It's about time someone did the same for you." They were silent for a few more strides.

"Doc is going to kill me." She said. He laughed softly, both as an admission of how right she was, and an acknowledgement of how frustrated their Cajun medic would be when he saw her condition. He walked through the canvas that served as the entrance to the aid station, ducking his head to lift the flap as he crossed the threshold. He saw Doc Spina organizing supplies, taking an inventory of everything the Germans had left behind in their retreat. His eyes fell on Aramis as they entered.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice fatigued.

"She tore her stitches from earlier." Don replied. Spina nodded his head, and motioned to one of the beds they had set up.

"Bring her here. I'll go get Doc Roe." He said, leaving the room to fetch Eugene.

Don set Aramis down on the bed gently, taking care to avoid her stitches as he lowered her onto the white sheets. She thanked him softly, and started removing the canvas jacket she was wearing. She hissed as she pulled it from her shoulders, the movement clearly irritating her open wound. Wordlessly, Don pulled it from her shoulders and down her arms, setting it off to the side. Roe entered swiftly, his face stern and emotionless. His eyes landed on Aramis as he crossed the room, causing his lips to purse and a look of paternal impatience mixed with genuine concern to cross his features. He jerked his head up softly, telling her to show him what happened. Don turned to leave the room as she reached for the hem of her shirt, trying to respect her privacy.

"It's fine, Don." Her voice called to him. "I'm not concerned about propriety." He stopped in his tracks, but kept his back to her. She lifted her shirt, and showed Roe the source of her discomfort. His eyes narrowed and his face drew closer to the exposed skin of her stomach. His gentle fingertips traced around the affected area, pulling slightly and examining it further, trying to get a better idea of exactly how badly she had injured herself.

"You're in luck, Stark." He spoke, his tone gentler than she anticipated. "It looks like most of the blood is coming from the tear in the stitches, not from the original wound. I just need to re-stitch you. You're going to have one hell of a battle scar." He took a step back, and looked her over again, this time from head to toe. His face became drawn, and his eyes narrowed again, as if he was examining her, but for reasons other than the wound on her stomach. He pulled his flashlight from his bag and placed his hand on her forehead, telling her to follow the light with her eyes as he lifted her upper eyelids. He exhaled loudly and stepped away.

"It's going to hurt a lot more than the last time. Your skin is still tender and I'm going to have to sew deeper to close the new wound. I'll get you some morphine, you're going to need it." He turned to collect his tools.

"Not too much." She said, her voice quiet and tired. "I still have so much to do…" He paused briefly, and Don could see Doc's eyes flit over his shoulder as she spoke. He didn't respond.

He returned a few minutes later, carrying an IV bag with plasma, a tray of newly sterilized stitch tools, and an empty syringe with a bottle of morphine. He took her uninjured arm and tapped at the crease of her elbow to find a vein. She turned her head away, and he inserted the IV and taped off the catheter, her face unchanging as he pricked and poked at her pale skin. He gave her the morphine injection, and stepped away to discard the used syringe. She returned her head to its normal position, staring up at the ceiling as her eyes glazed over. Doc returned with a cotton bandage, and began to thread the needle. Her eyes began to droop as he made his preparations, and her head soon collapsed toward them, her eyes closed softly and her face neutral. Don called out to Doc, concerned that something might have been wrong. He glanced over, and a look of relief fell across his face

"Finally." Eugene whispered softly, confusing Don. He looked to his fellow soldier. "Fixing these stitches won't matter if she doesn't stop running around like a mad woman. I spoke with Diana a little while ago. Apparently Aramis and Vaughn had been going almost non-stop for 3 days before they came here. She needs to get these stitches fixed, but more than anything she needs to rest." Don looked back to Aramis, leaving Doc to finish preparing his tools.

He stitched her stomach quickly and quietly, winding the needle and thread through her skin with the steady gentle hands he had become known for.

"Don't you have something to be doing, Malarkey?" He asked as he tied off the last of the stitches

"Captain Nixon told me to keep an eye on her." Don responded. Doc nodded, his face softening. He placed a clean cotton bandage over the wound, and taped off the sides to make it stay. He gathered his tools, and looked at Don.

"Alright. Lord knows she needs it." He exited the room as swiftly as he had entered, leaving Don and Aramis alone in the aid station. He grabbed a blanket from one of the shelves, and draped it over her. He took a seat in the chair Doc had been occupying next to her bed, and settled in.

He watched her as she slept, relishing the moments of quiet, and he realized how long it had been since they had been together in a situation where one of them wasn't at an immediate risk of dying. He had forgotten what she looked like when she was relaxed, not trying to work through some problem, organizing some ridiculous effort, or trying to keep everyone from getting killed. Her face had lost the drawn and tired expression he had become so accustomed to, and he much preferred her features in their current tranquil state. Her breathing was slow and even, her hand rising and falling on her chest, and he contented himself knowing that she would find a few moments of serenity in spite of everything that had happened. She displayed some reminders of the events of that day. Her hair was falling from its usual style, the ponytail sagging lower on her head, and a few tendrils of her curled hair falling into her face.

Her weight loss was more evident here. Without the bulky winter clothes to hide her, he saw its impacts on the other parts of her body. Her white tee shirt was hanging off of her, as though it were 3 sizes too big. Her clavicles were protruding far more than he remembered; the deep concave curves casting shadows over her skin. The bracelet she was given as her ID band likely could have been pulled from her wrist, even though it was designed to be permanent, and not removable.

He returned his gaze to her face. Her features were peaceful and neutral with a shine over her cheeks, and his eyebrows furrowed as he realized she was crying. Her breath hitched slightly as she inhaled, and he saw the discoloration of the pillow beneath her cheekbone as it absorbed her tears. His emotions swelled uncontrollably as he watched her sleep, and he began to feel as she felt, taking her pain as his own.

He felt her immediate loss of Vaughn more poignantly than he had before, remembering all the time they spent together, ruminating on their familial relationship. He sympathized and empathized, remembering the loss of his own brothers in Bastogne. His instinct kicked in, causing the sadness and grief to ebb slightly as a passionate desire to protect her took hold. He wanted to safeguard her from everything she was feeling and experiencing, to hide her away in a place where she would never be sad, never feel loss, and no harm would ever come to her. He became angry. Angry at General Donovan for recruiting her and bringing her here, angry with Vaughn for being killed and causing her to feel her grief as she was, angry at the Germans that injured her, tried to kill her and murdered her friend, and angry at himself for not being there to help her when she needed it.

His fists started to clench, his knuckles whitening as his grip intensified. His breathing came in short bursts as he tried to get his emotions under control, and he slammed his eyes shut to try and will it all away, opening and closing his fists to release the tension.

"What did you say to her?" He heard a voice whisper behind him. He jumped and spun around. He saw Diana standing there, her arms across her chest. He hadn't heard her enter, and he had forgotten how quiet they could be.

"Come again?" He said, too caught off guard by her sudden presence.

"To get her to sleep." Diana responded, her voice barely above a whisper. "What did you say to her?" He turned back to look at Aramis.

"Nothing." He said with a shrug. He looked at his hands. "Doc drugged her. She was trying to get out as quickly as she could. She said she had a lot to do."

Diana walked into the room and stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes on Aramis.

"She does. We all do, especially now. But she's no good to anyone in her condition." Don didn't respond. They both continued to look at their sleeping friend, lost in their thoughts and grief. "Thank you." Diana whispered suddenly, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes not leaving the sleeping woman before her. Don flitted his eyes to her.

"For what?"

"For looking out for her. For taking care of her. For not letting her refuse your help." Diana continued to stare forward, her face drawn and sad.

"She's very independent." Don responded.

"Infuriatingly so." Diana agreed. They were silent for a while longer, neither taking their eyes from Aramis' sleeping form. Diana sighed. "I'm going to go tie up loose ends and make sure the others are situated. Do you mind keeping an eye on her a little longer?" Don shook his head.

"Nixon asked me to look out for her. So as far as I'm concerned, this is my assigned duty until I'm told otherwise." Diana smiled sadly and put a hand on his shoulder. She exited without another word, leaving Don alone in the quiet aid station, watching over the battered, obstinate, newly elected leader of Unit SI-X66 as they both tried to recover from harrowing circumstances and overwhelming grief.

* * *

Diana stepped out from beneath the veil of canvas that acted as the door to the aid station. She crossed her arms over her chest as the cold bit at her skin. She had left her winter coat back at their headquarters in her rush to check on Aramis. Doc Spina had stopped by to tell her that Don brought her in, and Doc Roe was in the process of re-stitching the wound on her stomach. Her body was tense, and not just from the cold. Worry was etched all over her face. She knew Aramis would have a difficult time with Vaughn's death, the two of them had developed a very close relationship that went back to the beginnings of their training, and it had only deepened once they went into the field. As his second in command, she was with him on every mission, supporting and helping him in conjunction with all of her own duties both in and out of the field. After seeing her reaction to Vaughn's death and her conversation with Don in the hospital, Diana feared that she was shutting down entirely, and she was at a loss for how to stop it. She considered seeking out Lewis Nixon to try and gain any insight into how to help their ailing friend, but she didn't see him anywhere, and she had too many things to take care of to spend much time looking for him.

She went over the plans that were swimming in her head as she walked back toward the house where they were headquartered. After Aramis' sudden departure, the rest of the team determined that Diana would be the second in command, which came as a surprise. She was aware of their respect and admiration for Aramis, but she was caught off guard by how adamant they were for her to take the position. Were it not for the traumatic circumstances, Diana would have been flattered. She accepted after some protest, thanking each of them for their confidence in her abilities. This promotion, however, meant that all her current missions would need to be passed off to another operative and each of them were already at capacity in terms of what they could handle. They decided she would hand everything off to Claire, whose networks and functions were fairly autonomous and could be managed by another team. Diana knew Aramis would need someone there to help her orchestrate everything, even though she would never admit it. More than anything, she was happy she would be able to keep an eye on her friend, as their current situation had the potential to strain her to a breaking point.

She needed to call the home office and give them a status report. She had spoken with both David Bruce and General Donovan after Vaughn's death, giving Aramis the privacy to cope with the day's events in her own way. They asked for a system of live updates, wanting the latest information as it came in, and they would want to know that Aramis had returned and was currently resting. They knew she needed it. David Bruce had all but commanded Diana to put Aramis to bed the second she returned, a fact she relayed to Doc Roe when she saw him earlier that day as she an Esther followed up with the surgeons that tried to save Vaughn. She was grateful to him for what he did. While she didn't think that morphine-induced unconsciousness was necessarily the most ethical method of getting their newly elected commander to rest, Diana would take whatever she could.

David Bruce and General Donovan agreed that, in light of their elections, Aramis and Diana deserved to be promoted. She had attained the military equivalent of Major, while Diana became a Captain. She would relay this bit of information later, opting to allow her friend to rest and save the bittersweet piece of news for a better time. Thankfully, Esther had volunteered to oversee the shipment of Vaughn's body to the home office, and she was likely passing it off to the official transporters now. According to Bruce, it would be sent to Bern for preparation, and then flown back to the United States for a proper burial. Bruce had also volunteered to inform Vaughn's wife Elizabeth, and Diana was grateful that neither she nor Aramis would be responsible for passing on such terrible news.

The other members of SI-X66 were scattered. They had been given the rest of the night off to process the events of the day, to cope with the loss of their former leader and the promotion of their new one. Diana knew each of their grieving processes would be different, and she respected their diversity enough to allow them do to what they needed to do without fear of judgment or reprimand. As long as they stayed safe and were ready to report out the next day, they had carte blanche. They needed it, they needed the rest, and all were grateful for both.

Her eyes were locked on the ground as she walked through the snow, obviously lost in her own world as she thought through everything that needed to get done before the teams moved out the next day. She was so distracted, she didn't notice the sound of another pair of boots approaching, and she ran headfirst into Charles Grant, knocking her backwards as they collided. He grabbed her arms to steady her.

"Diana?" He said softly, leaning his head down to catch her eyes. She looked at him as she released her grip on his arms, finding her own footing in the packed down snow. He searched her face, seeing the lines and creases of her worried expression and taking note of the dark circles that were starting to mirror Aramis'. He could tell she was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and his concern for her heightened a few degrees. He released his hold on her and spoke. "Are you okay?" He asked. She blinked slowly.

"That's kind of a silly question, don't you think?" Her voice was soft and hoarse. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and he noticed she wasn't wearing her winter coat. She started walking again, and he moved in step next to her. His brow furrowed, the lines between his eyebrows deepening.

"I'm not sure what else to say…" He offered with a gentle shrug. "I want to help..." She stopped walking as they reached the house that acted as their temporary headquarters for their impromptu stay in the small Belgian town. They stood there on the snow-covered stoop that led to the front door, the paint peeling off the weathered wood in small strips behind her, framing her face with light.

"There isn't anything you can do." She replied in a defeated tone. "There isn't anything anyone can do. We need to regroup, press on, and recover. Or whatever it was that Vaughn used to say." She shook her head and placed her hand over her eyes, resting the weight of her head in her palm.

"Diana…" She lifted her head to look at him. He took her hand and encircled her in his arms, holding her there. She closed her eyes and sighed, resting her cheek against his collarbone and relaxing slightly. "I'm so sorry." He whispered to her. She took a deep breath and pulled away slightly.

"I'm just worried about Aramis." Chuck looked at her, his eyes narrowing with confusion. "This is more for her than any of us. She and Vaughn were like our parents. She was his second in command. They were together for every mission. She helped him design trainings and orchestrate all the networks. She dealt with Bruce and General Donovan when Vaughn was too busy. She made sure all of us were on track and well supplied, checking in periodically and making sure everything was okay. They were closer than family, it was almost like it was something else entirely. How do you watch someone lose the person with whom they were so close while trying to mourn their loss yourself?" Chuck was quiet.

"I don't know…" He whispered. Diana sighed dejectedly.

"She was the platform holding him up. Holding all of us up, really. And she's still trying to hold us. She took off into the woods, endangering herself, forgetting her own health entirely so we wouldn't see her falter. So she could maintain this image of strength she's built up." Diana's voice was rising as her anger mounted. "It makes me so angry with her. Almost as if she's treating me like I'm a child, like I can't see through her. But I can. I can see her. I know this is killing her. And what kills me is that I don't know how much she's hurting because she won't let me help her. She helps all of us all the time. Whenever we need something, she's always there. But she obstinately refuses to let anyone do the same for her." Tears of frustration were pricking at Diana's eyes. "It makes me want to shake her. To scream in her face to let me in. To let me take some of the burden that she's carrying, and to tell her that she doesn't have to bear all our weight on her own shoulders. I want her to stop sacrificing all of herself for us. To stop deciding to put herself in danger to protect us. To stop hurting herself to save us." The tears were flowing down her cheeks. "I know she does it because she cares about all of us, even Katherine who has done nothing but spurn and scorn her since the day they met. She would rather spend the rest of her life in a hospital with some debilitating injury than see any of us with a single scratch, or die than see one of us in a coffin. But she's so blinded by her own worry for us that she doesn't think that some of us might care about her, that if something happened to her it would hurt us just as badly as any bullet. She doesn't take care of herself because she only thinks about taking care of us. She thinks of herself as expendable, and as twisted as this sounds, it makes me want to kill her. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to her, Chuck. If Aramis is hurt or killed, I don't know that I could survive it. And what scares me the most is that up until this point Vaughn was there to help manage her. He knew how she was, and he was always there to rein her in. But he's gone, and now there's nothing to stop her. She's the only one who can lead us, but I'm terrified of the consequences of that decision. I nominated her first because there wasn't another option, but in doing so I think I may have sent her to her death. I'll never forgive myself for that, and now I don't know what to do." Diana leaned against the frame of the door and covered her face with her hands as she dissolved into tears, the impassioned speech crippling her resolve and opening the floodgates of the emotions she had pent up over the day.

Chuck pulled her into his chest. His right hand supported the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her dark brown hair as his left came around her back, holding her close to him. He felt her small body shake against his as her sobs became more intense, and he prayed that some of her pain would be alleviated. She curled her arms into her body and gripped the front of his jacket, holding onto him tightly as she cried.

Her knees began to weaken, and he increased his hold on her, cradling her slight frame as she allowed the emotions to engulf her. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, trying to ease her pain by showing his support. He rested his cheek against her temple and closed his eyes, rocking her back and forth. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled his body closer to hers, clutching at him with all the might she had left. He could feel the tension leaving her body as she cried, as if the tears streaming down her cheeks were a vehicle for its release. He wanted so badly to help her. Of everything he had seen, from D-Day to Bastogne, he knew she had similar experiences, and he wouldn't wish that burden on his worst enemy. She told him there was nothing he or anyone else could do, and there was nothing he hated more than feeling helpless. So he stood there with her, in the doorframe of a battered house in rural Belgium, as the rock she needed to steady herself in the face of ambiguity and grief.

Her sobs became less intense. Her body shook less violently and her breathing started to slow as her emotions ebbed. She straightened herself, taking some of her weight back into her legs, but still clutching Chuck desperately. He pulled away slightly, taking her face in his hands and tilting it up to his. He wiped her tears away with thumbs and brought his forehead closer to hers, staring into her eyes.

"Diana, you are just as strong as she is. And you care just as fiercely as she does. The two of you are the most incredible women I've ever seen, and I'm honored to have met and known you. But don't you see it? Aramis has always had support, and she's always had someone to held rein her in. And that person has been you." Diana shook her head in his hands and looked away as fresh tears sprang from her eyes. "No, listen to me." He turned her face back to look at him, forcing her eyes to his. "You are the sister she never had, but always needed. You are the person she can lean on, and the rock to steady her when she falters. And you do this because you understand her. You do see her, and you know you'll never see all of her, but you love her anyway. Vaughn wasn't the other side of her coin, Diana. You are. She protects you and you worry for her, which makes you protect her and her worry for you. She may have been Vaughn's right hand, but you have always been hers. If she forgets who she is, you remind her. If she loses something, you know exactly where it is. You are her Aramis. And with you by her side, I know that the two of you will make it through anything."

"How do you know?" She whispered, her cheeks glistening.

"Because I know you. I see YOU. And I know what you're capable of, even if you refuse to admit it." She looked at him hard, her eyes more focused than he had seen them since her arrival in Rachamps. He pressed his lips to hers, and she collapsed against him. She gripped the lapels of his jacket tightly and lost herself in his touch, if only for a few moments before the real world came crashing down around her.

* * *

Thanks again for reading. Hopefully you enjoyed. As always, I'd love to hear from you, so please let me know what you think. Thanks!


	10. I Know You Are, but What Am I?

**Authors Note 1:** Just a heads up, I'm probably (read: definitely) going to have to change the rating to M for the next chapter. So if you can't find it in a few weeks because you haven't set the filters properly, remember this message :)

**Authors Note 2:** I don't own BoB, or anything Marvel. I'm not making money. Lawsuits will get you nowhere.

Enjoy!

* * *

**All We Cannot See**

**Chapter 10:** I Know You Are, But What Am I?

Don's eyes fluttered open slowly. He didn't remember falling asleep, and he rolled his neck from side to side to try and work out some of the tension that had set in from resting in such an awkward position. It was warmer than he remembered, and he noticed the blanket that had been draped over his body. The hospital bed was empty, and Aramis was nowhere to be seen. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned, surprised by how quiet the aid station was so soon after a battle. He stood from his seat, draping the blanket over the vacant hospital bed where Aramis had rested, and walked toward the exit to try and find his platoon.

He didn't have to look far. Lieutenant Spiers, the newly appointed Easy Company commanding officer, was milling around the Hôtel de Ville trying to get the lists organized for the reports Captain Winters would have to type up later that day.

"Sergeant Malarkey." He called as Don approached. Don saluted.

"Sir?"

"You're second platoon, right?"

"Yes sir."

"Who is your platoon leader? I've been trying to look through the lists, but I can't seem to find a name." Don looked at the Lieutenant, trying to keep the sadness from his face.

"Lieutenant Compton was taken off the line before our assault on Foy, sir. First Sergeant Lipton has been acting as our platoon leader, but he's technically attached to First."

"I thought Lieutenant Foley was in charge of First?" Spiers asked.

"He is, sir."

"So second Platoon is without a leader?"

"Yes sir." Don responded. Spiers took a deep breath and shook his head. He was a man of few words, and Don still couldn't shake the chill that trickled down his spine whenever he spoke with him.

"And you're the ranking non-com, correct?" Spiers said after a few moments of silence.

"Yes sir." Spiers nodded.

"Alright. You'll be acting platoon leader for the time being. At least until we can find a replacement lieutenant to come in. Get your squad assembled, we'll be moving out soon."

"Are they taking us off the line sir?" Don asked. Spiers shook his head.

"No. Hitler's launching a huge counteroffensive somewhere along the French and German border. We're headed for some town called Haguenau." Don sighed and adjusted his rifle over his shoulder. "We'll get a break soon, Malarkey." Spiers said, with a gentleness that surprised him. "Go check on second platoon and make sure they're ready to move. Transports should be arriving before nightfall."

"Yes sir." Don said, mustering a small smile. He set off, seeking the familiar faces of his platoon to relay the news.

* * *

Aramis stood behind the desk in the abandoned house they were using as a headquarters, staring at the papers that were fanned out in front of her. While she felt better after having rested for a few hours, she was more than slightly annoyed that Doc Roe had essentially placed her into a drug induced coma against her will. She left the aid station early the next morning only to find Diana sprawled across the desk, her cheek resting atop a report Nixon had drafted for them to send to the home office and her body contorted at angles that could never be described as comfortable. She shuffled the young woman into the bedroom across the hall and closed the door, hoping she would also be able to get some much needed rest.

She heard the door open and close, and Aramis looked up to see Diana entering the room, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she yawned.

"Why didn't you wake me?" She asked as Aramis lifted her coffee cup to her lips. She regarded Diana carefully.

"Because you needed to sleep." She said, shifting her gaze back down to the papers in front of her. Diana raised her eyebrow and pulled her shoulders back, causing the vertebrae in her spine to realign and release some of the tension she was feeling in her back.

"You're certainly one to talk." She retorted. Aramis' eyes flitted back up to Diana.

"Yes, well, let's not start on the stunt Eugene pulled in the aid station. And don't bother denying it. I know you said something to him." Diana flexed her hands and took a deep breath, trying to calm and center herself.

"Aramis…" She said calmly, "you needed to rest. You still do. I'm worried about you." Aramis lifted her gaze back to her friend, the former sharpness and accusations gone.

"There's too much to do and not enough time to do it, D." She stated softly. They were silent for a few moments, and Aramis turned her attention back to her desk. "Has Claire been briefed on her responsibilities to your networks?" Her voice changed distinctly, signifying her shift from personal to professional mind frame. Diana nodded and stepped forward.

"Yes. She's actually been helping me for the last few months, so she's in a perfect position to take everything over. I gave her the dossier on all the most recent movements and acquisitions last night, so she should have everything she needs."

"Good. She and Esther are moving out today?" Aramis asked, checking her watch as she spoke. "I want everyone to travel together as much as possible, just in case they run into trouble."

"Yes. They should be leaving any moment now. Esther picked up the files she would need to bring back to David last night." Diana said, stepping into the room further and looking at the papers on the desk. "Katherine is going with them as well."

"That's good. At least until they get a little further away from the front lines."

"Concerned for Katherine?" Diana joked as she shuffled some papers into a file. Aramis cracked a smile and met her friend's eyes.

"Arrogant bitch, or not. She's still part of the team. I may dislike her, but I don't want her dead." She took another sip of her coffee. "At least not all the time…" She added. Diana laughed again.

"So where does that leave us?" She asked. Aramis sighed and set down her coffee. She pulled a map from underneath the stacks of paper that were littered across the desk and spread it out. She placed her hands on either side of it and leaned forward.

"Vaughn and I were to be deployed to Alsace to determine the climate in that region. According to the reports, it's likely to be one of the places where the Germans would concentrate their strength, especially after losing France to the Allies."

"I would imagine after losing so much ground in Belgium, they're probably already moving in there now." Aramis nodded.

"Which is why it's even more important for us to get there as soon as possible to see what's on the ground before Ike deploys any more troops to hold the lines. Everyone should be en route to their respective missions, so as soon as we get everything cleaned up and deliver our report to Colonel Sink we can move out. When can you be ready?" Diana's response was cut off by the muffled sounds of shouting. She narrowed her eyes and stepped around the desk to look out the window, Aramis following right behind her.

"What's going on?" She asked. They saw several Easy Company men sprinting down the main road of the town, heading toward the outer edge near the forest.

"Come on." Aramis said quickly as she turned from the window. She grabbed her utility belt from the edge of the desk as she strode out of their makeshift office and ran down the stairs. Diana was immediately behind her, and the duo rushed out of the house and into the frigid Belgian morning, jogging down the street to see what was causing such a commotion.

She heard a familiar voice calling her name amid the chaos of the shouts and the cries. A lone figure moved toward them, cutting through the swarms of people heading in the opposite direction. Chuck's face emerged, his features drawn and fearful, and his eyes lit up with recognition as they settled on hers. He jogged up to them and spoke, his voice quick and breathless.

"We have penetration. It's Esther and Claire, they..." She didn't wait for him to finish. Her eyes flew open and looked past him, settling on a cluster of olive drab uniforms huddled on the ground. She took off, sprinting toward them as fast as her legs would carry her, cutting through the pedestrian traffic nimbly with shouts and demands to get out of her way. The cries and yells got louder as she approached, and she heard them crying for a medic as they scrambled to pull whatever supplies they could find from their packs.

She dropped to her left leg and slid across the ground as she made her final approach, calling for them to stand aside. She stopped just next to Shifty. His hands were clasped together tightly, glossy and deep crimson as they pressed against Esther's ribs. She was hyperventilating, her agonized cries intermingling with the desperate shouts of the infantrymen who were trying to save her.

Claire lay on the ground next to her, struggling to breathe through the open wound in her throat. George was speaking to her as soothingly as he could, nervously fumbling with the cap of a syrette as he tried to slow the bleeding. Diana was there in an instant. She cradled Claire's head in her hands and took a bandage from George, pressing it over the wound in a desperate attempt to help. She echoed George's thinly veiled cries for her to be calm, trying to reassure her that everything would be alright, though they both knew she was slipping away before their eyes.

"Esther." Aramis barked as she took in the scene before her. "Esther, what happened?" The wounded woman's cries became louder as Shifty poured a newly opened packet of sulfa powder over the gaping hole on her ribs. "ESTHER!" She shouted again. She took the blonde woman's face between her hands with gentle force, desperately trying to get her attention. "Esther look at me." She commanded, steadying her face and forcing her to look at her. Their eyes met, and Aramis could see her friend's pupils come back into focus. "What. Happened?" She asked in a desperate yet measured tone.

"We... We were..." She cried aloud again.

The Medics arrived, with Roe announcing his arrival by shouting at everyone to give him room. Don was right behind them. After hearing the commotion, he fell in behind Doc Roe to see if there was anything he could do to help. Shifty moved over again, sliding out of the way as Doc shifted his med bag in front of him. He pulled a syrette from the outer pocket and pulled the cap off, wasting no time before driving into Esther's skin.

"Claire?" She mumbled softly. Aramis tried to keep her voice even as she glanced at their comrade, and watched the life drain from her eyes.

"Esther." She said. "Tell me what happened."

"We were heading toward the forest... We... It all happened so fast, I... Katherine, she..." Aramis was hanging on every word.

"Katherine? Esther, where is Katherine?" She asked, noticing the absence of the third teammate. She overheard Diana saying Claire's name over and over again with increasing insistence. Esther spoke again.

"She asked if I was bringing files back to Bern..." Every word was a struggle. Her breathing was intense and labored. "I told her I had the field reports... in my bag. She... She asked about the field strategies for Alsace. I told her you had them with you... She... Oh god, she..." Esther looked to her left and saw Claire lying there, lifeless. "Claire? Claire?!" She screamed.

"Esther!" Aramis yelled back. "What happened to Katherine?! Where is she?" Esther looked back at her leader, her eyes wide and afraid as a tear slipped down her cheek.

"She... She mumbled something to us in German. She pulled out her sidearm and told me to give her the bag. I refused. She shot Claire first, then me. I didn't have time to react. She took the bag and took off." Aramis' eyes went wide.

"What?" Aramis asked tersely, her lips tense, her eyes deadlocked on the woman in front of her.

"She's... Oh god, Aramis. She... I think she's a double agent." Time seemed to stand still. Everything moved in slow motion, and Aramis' grip on Esther's face tightened as she uttered those fateful words. Her eyes lost focus, staring past her friends and into the oblivion of her own disbelief. Esther began screaming Claire's name, reaching for her hand in desperation, though she knew in her heart it was over. She cried aloud, a haunting combination of agony and anguish that carried over the trees and into the emptiness of the forest. Diana stared at Claire with blank eyes. George held her hand in his limply. He dropped his chin to his chest in mourning, the cap for the syrette still clutched in his bloody fingers.

The world shifted back into focus as she felt a hand softly brush across her shoulders and heard a familiar voice whisper her name. She felt Esther's tears on her palms as her grip relaxed. She let go of a breath she didn't know she was holding, and she began to quiver. She saw something flash out of the corner of her eye: an unmistakable streak of black and blonde darting across the packed down snow. Her eyes flitted to the figure, and before the recognition had time to settle in she was already gone, sprinting in pursuit of her newly discovered target.

Diana barely had time to register what was happening. Claire's lifeless form lay on the ground before them, her head gently resting in her lap. George's hand laid over hers, holding her fingers with what little strength he could muster. She saw Don from her periphery, standing helplessly behind Aramis as he watched the scene before him. Her eyes were blank and unfocused, and Diana feared the final stroke had fallen and Aramis had finally reached her breaking point. Something caught her attention, and before Diana could say anything, Aramis' eyes focused on something behind their backs, and she was sprinting toward the forest like a thoroughbred chasing the Triple Crown. Diana's head whipped around, and she caught sight of the same flash Aramis had seen seconds prior. Doc Roe started calling out commands as a jeep approached carrying Lipton and Nixon, and the world devolved back into chaos as they tried to get Esther to the field hospital. Diana looked up and saw Don standing there, staring after Aramis in confusion. She called his name and started barking orders as Spina, George, and Roe loaded Esther's barely conscious form on to the Jeep to try and save her life.

Don watched as she sat there silently, almost as if she were frozen. He brushed his hand over her shoulders as she clutched Esther's face in her hands, though he knew she likely wouldn't notice. Claire lay next to them, her face lifeless, her blood pooling on the ground around her. Esther's cries of pain had muted and came less and less frequently as the morphine took hold, though Don feared the lapse in her consciousness may have been due to the slow creep of death rather than the medication. He whispered his condolences to Aramis as his fingers rested on the thick canvas of her jacket. He was helpless in this situation, an unwelcome but all-too familiar feeling. There was nothing else he could do but try to offer his support, though he knew it would fall on deaf ears.

He felt her shoulders tense underneath his palm, and she began to shake softly as she stared at her fallen friends. Her head lifted slightly, so quick it was almost unnoticeable. He saw a black form streak across his peripheral vision, felt canvas slip across his fingers, and Aramis was gone. He saw her take off in a sprint toward the forest, chasing after the other black figure as though nothing else mattered. Diana screamed his name.

"DON! Go help her!" She commanded, gesturing wildly in the direction of the forest. He threw his rifle over his shoulder and started to follow.

"Shifty! Come on!" He called. The young southerner turned from the Jeep and fell in behind Don, the two of them sprinting after Aramis as quickly as their legs and gear would allow.

Her eyes locked onto her target. There was no question in her mind. Katherine sprinted ahead, Esther's bag clearly strapped onto her back. Aramis pursued, blinded by her rage and fueled by an intense determination that seemed boundless. Katherine entered the forest, her footfalls echoing off the destroyed bark of the trees and hardened snow. She glanced behind her and saw Aramis approaching. She took her sidearm from her belt and started to fire at her pursuer, causing Aramis to duck behind trees to avoid the spray of bullets aimed in her direction. Realizing her magazine was empty, Katherine threw the gun to the ground and picked up a burst of speed, trying to capitalize on Aramis' serpentine movements that caused her to fall behind.

Aramis used the stump of a fallen tree to propel herself forward, trying to reclaim the speed she had lost ducking around the trees. She saw Katherine stumble over a drift in the snow, too focused on Aramis' movements to pay attention to the terrain in front of her. Aramis saw her chance, and she didn't hesitate. She dropped to the ground and slid, taking Katherine's legs out from underneath her in an elegantly executed slide tackle. Katherine went down hard, pitching forward gracelessly as her hands came out in front of her instinctively to catch her fall. Aramis reached for her arm to try and put her in a submission hold, but the blonde recovered too quickly, and she found herself with a fistful of crystallized snow where Katherine's wrist had rested not milliseconds earlier. She pulled herself into a crouched position and regarded her enemy carefully, watching for any inclination of movement with the full knowledge that one misstep would be the difference between life and death.

They heard gunshots coming from the forest, causing Don's heart to sink and his fear to pique.

"Fuck." He swore under his breath. He ran forward, pushing his body to its limit. How he was running at this speed with a pack and weapons was beyond the scope of his comprehension. But he was running, and he wouldn't stop until he found her. Shifty was right behind him, his rifle in his hands as they continued their pursuit. He saw her ducking around the trees, trying to avoid the bullets aimed in her direction. He saw Katherine stumble, and he knew Aramis would capitalize on the opportunity.

He saw the two of them spring up from the ground. After a brief pause Katherine lunged, sending them into flurry of punches and kicks. None of them connected. They both knew their movements so well each was powerless against the other. He put on an extra burst of speed through sheer force of will, desperately hoping they could get there before any other harm befell her.

Katherine was maniacal; like a caged animal defending herself against attack. She was all instinct, but she was also desperate. Aramis knew the fear would only fuel her for so long, and all she needed to do was match every blow until her opponent slipped up.

Her opportunity came much more slowly than she would have liked, and she could feel the skin on her injured wrist screaming with protest as she blocked attack after attack. She finally saw it, a split second before it came. Katherine misplaced one of her feet and left her center open just enough. Aramis seized the opportunity and struck, sending Katherine stumbling backward with a perfectly placed uppercut to her jaw. Her head snapped back, causing her to trip and attempt to recover her footing as she reeled from the force of the blow. She tried to take advantage of the bit of distance that had come between them, and moved to start sprinting further into the forest, but she miscalculated, and Aramis' hand locked around her wrist before she could take another step. As Aramis pulled her back toward the fray, she swung again and landed another hit, this time to the blonde's diaphragm. But she over-reached, leaving her legs in an awkward position, and as her fist connected with Katherine's rib cage, the blonde's leg kicked out, catching Aramis off-guard and sent them both to the ground.

She heard gunshots and saw the bullets ricocheting off the trees just behind Katherine, in the exact position where she had stood a split second earlier. She pulled herself back into a crouched position, watching Katherine carefully as she screamed in protest, hoping the arrival of the new players would be enough of a distraction to give her the upper hand.

He continued to watch them as they entered the forest, sprinting through the trees and dodging the exploded stumps as they tried to catch up. They were locked in hand to hand combat the likes of which Don had never seen before. He wasn't certain whether he was awed or terrified, and he slowed slightly as he watched them. They were close enough to take a shot, and Don didn't hesitate. Slowing his pace, he raised his rifle and took aim. Suddenly, Katherine swiped Aramis' legs out from underneath her, and Don's heart dropped into his stomach as the bullets ricocheted off the trees behind them. They were very close now, and he heard Aramis' voice screaming in protest.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" She cried at them, holding up a hand toward their position, but keeping her eyes locked on Katherine. "I need her alive!"

Katherine was breathless, her eyes locked on her former team mate intently. She stood erect, and a small smirk played over her lips as Aramis called to the Easy Company men behind her.

"You'll never take me alive, Stark." She stated venomously, looking at the OSS operative in a predatory fashion. Aramis pushed herself up from the ground and moved her body into a defensive stance.

"I guess we'll find out." She replied, her voice soft and menacing. She flexed her hands open and closed, curling her fingers into the perfect fist just as Vaughn taught her, and launched herself at Katherine. She leaped into the air as she propelled herself forward and brought her elbow down on Katherine's collarbone, causing her to stumble back a few paces as she reeled from the blow, clearly not expecting a pseudo-aerial attack. She cried out in pain, and Aramis was sure she could feel the bone bowing under the pressure. When she recovered, Katherine countered with a feint-jab, barely missing Aramis' injured side as she dodged the maneuver.

They continued to fight, hand to hand, blow to blow. The elegance was gone now. In their exhaustion, they dispensed with the beautifully executed movements they learned from their instructors and focused on dispensing of their opponent as quickly and forcibly as possible. Don was amazed at how brutal they were, and he stood there in shock as they unleashed incessant barrages of attacks on each other. Katherine stumbled back as she caught a particularly powerful kick to her cheek, and the snow was spattered with blood as her head jerked to the side with the force of the blow. Her teeth were stained red as she curled her head back around slowly, her eyes boring into Aramis murderously. She reached to her belt and retrieved a small item, flicking the butterfly knife open and striking at Aramis in the same swing.

She dodged the maneuver expertly, and continued to do so as Katherine advanced. Aramis saw the pattern. The fear wasn't fueling her anymore, it was making her careless. Katherine pressed forward, her swipes becoming more and more desperate with each lunge. Aramis watched closely, carefully, waiting for her opportunity to strike and end the fight for good.

Katherine lunged at her again, and Aramis moved the opposite direction, but rather than a jab, it was a perfectly executed feint, and she barely had time to throw an arm above her face as Katherine brought the knife down from above. She caught her wrist with her other hand as she tried to maneuver the knife away from her face, but Katherine was too quick. She held the knife with both hands and threw the weight of her body behind her thrust, trying to drive the knife downward. Aramis locked both her arms under Katherine's wrists, bending her knees into a lunge to try and propel the blonde away. She felt the stitches splitting in her wrist and heard Don crying her name. She heard footsteps and shouting, and she knew they weren't alone. She felt Katherine's anger and fear, saw the desperation in her eyes, and it revealed the opportunity. She bent her knees, throwing Katherine off balance and brought her leg around, swiping at her ankles and dropping her opponent to the ground. The knife fell to the forest floor with the blade in the snow at the base of a tree. Katherine was on her back, with wide eyes and her mouth forming a surprised "o." Not wasting a second, Aramis jumped on top of her, placing all of her weight on the blonde's stomach, pinning her to the ground. Their eyes met, Aramis' face wrought with disdain, before she brought her fist down, connecting with Katherine's temple, rendering her unconscious.

She sat there for a moment, staring at Katherine's unconscious form lying in the snow. She was breathing hard, though whether it was from exertion or anger no one could be sure. Don heard footsteps approaching, and Diana was at his side before he could turn around. She gasped and stopped dead in her tracks as she saw Aramis sitting on top of Katherine, and the world seemed to stop as everyone waited for her to move.

She rose slowly, inching up from her position on Katherine's stomach until she was towering over her. Her breath was shaky and discordant, and her gaze stayed downward, not breaking her stare with the woman she used to call a teammate. With closed eyes, she slowly lifted her head, pushing her hair back with her hands as she exhaled. Her eyes opened slowly, the deep gray orbs locking on Diana.

There was a small stream of blood running from her nose and over her lips. She wiped it away with the back of her hand as she stepped over Katherine's body and started toward them.

"Diana, you know what to do." Her voice was deadly quiet and tense. She pointed at Katherine and marched past the group without another word. Her eyes were focused ahead of her, conveying a dangerous and silent rage that left everyone speechless. They watched her with wide, anxious eyes as she strode away purposefully, and Don prayed to any deity that would listen for her to make it through this in one piece.

* * *

She stood in front of the desk with the receiver of the field phone pressed against her cheek. She was hunched over, bracing against the wood with one arm as she cradled the phone. She was exhausted, and should have been sitting down, but the adrenaline rush from losing Claire, almost losing Esther, and the fight with Katherine left her restless and unable to sit still.

She was bound by duty to call David Bruce and General Donovan. The last 24 hours had been an overwhelming flurry of activity that was without precedent, and she wasn't sure which protocols to follow, as there was no established protocol for the series of events they had just experienced. But she had never been more terrified to have a single conversation in her life.

She told them everything: Claire's death, Esther's near death and hospitalization, Katherine's betrayal, and their current status as a unit. She heard them both sigh on the other end of their line, and there was a long, painful lull in the conversation. She waited for one of them to speak as the silence stretched on. She rested her forehead against the cool wood of the desk and took a deep breath. Finally, General Donovan broke the stillness.

"Aramis, are you alright?" He asked.

"Yes sir." She responded, trying to keep her voice level. She heard David Bruce scoff. "How would you like me to proceed?"

"This was a very personal attack, Miss Stark." David's gruff voice crackled over the phone. "You should handle this situation in whatever manner you see fit." She paused, not quite sure what he meant.

"Sir?" She asked, her voice hoarse.

"The agency has no established protocol for the discovery and apprehension of double agents while in the field, Miss Stark. The threat must be contained, but how it is contained is up to you." She paused for a moment and swallowed, trying to suppress the lump that was building in the back of her throat.

"Yes sir." She said again.

"Check in when you've arrived in Alsace." General Donovan said gently.

"Will do, sir."

"Good luck, Miss Stark." David Bruce said, the usual coldness in his voice softer than normal. The line went dead, and Aramis slammed her eyes closed as she tried to digest what her leaders had just told her.

She took a deep breath, trying to quell the cacophonous surge of emotion that was threatening rear its ugly head. Her heart started to race, and she desperately tried to control her breathing as she bit back the tears that welled in her eyes. She needed Vaughn. She needed her mentor, her friend, and her confidante. She needed his knowledge, his expertise, and his level-headed approach to problem solving to help her separate her thoughts from her emotions. She had been placed in a position she didn't feel qualified to hold, and handed a decision she wasn't sure how to make. There was no direction, no guidance and no protocol to frame her actions, and she knew that as long as the threat was contained and the exposure was minimized, neither David Bruce nor General Donovan would question her. They would accept whatever decision she made without another thought or care. She was unsure she could say the same of herself. She knew what the Germans would do to any member of her team or organization if they were found. She also knew what Katherine had done to Esther, to Claire, and what she attempted to do to her in the forest. Aramis wasn't sure if she was capable of doing the same, nor how she would survive if she didn't. Vaughn had taught them to never take the final step unless it was absolutely necessary. But the lines of necessity were so blurred, they were barely visible. She could no longer differentiate what she wanted to do from what she should do, and the thoughts raged in her mind, battling one another for influence over her decision.

She heard a knock at the door, followed by Diana's soft voice saying her name. She exhaled a shaky breath and lifted her head from the desk, pulling her shoulders back and standing as tall as possible. She braced her hands against the aged wood, mustered every ounce of confidence and strength she had left, and called for her friend to come in.

Diana peeked her head through the door, gauging the feeling in the room before entering. Her eyes settled on Aramis as she stood behind the desk. Her posture was confident and erect, but the fierceness with which her fingers pressed into the wood gave her away, and Diana's suspicions were confirmed. She was clinging to what little strength she had left by a thread, and Diana knew to tread carefully.

"How are you doing?" She asked gently as she closed the door behind her. Aramis' eyes were cold and hard as she regarded Diana. She nodded curtly in response to the question she had been posed.

"Did she talk?" Aramis queried, her voice the deathly quiet that Diana had always found terrifying. There was no tone, no inflection of emotion or feeling: a multiple entendre with potentially devastating consequences. Diana entered the room, trying to meet Aramis' eyes as she approached the desk. Her response was silenced by a knock at the door.

"Yes." Aramis called out, raising her voice slightly. It was more of a statement than a question, and her voice carried a distinct undertone of irritation. The door creaked open as Don and Chuck entered the room. Their pace was slow and cautious, and their heads were dipped submissively. Diana smiled at them softly as they approached the desk, trying to quell some of their discomfort and ease some of the tension that had permeated the room. Aramis' demeanor didn't change, and she stared at them with the same cold eyes that greeted Diana when she approached. Her lips were pursed slightly, one of the only physical "tells" she had been unable to rid herself of, and it only happened when she was exhausted and irritated. Don met her eyes and smiled at her softly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward into a sympathetic grin that could only mean they came with good news.

"Doc told us to let you know that Esther is going to be okay. They were able to retrieve the bullet and stop the bleeding. It didn't hit any of her organs, and it stayed in one piece upon entry. She's going to be just fine." Aramis' shoulders dropped slightly as he spoke. Her eyes fluttered closed and she exhaled a long, deep breath, visibly relaxing, if only slightly. Her fingers pressed harder into the wood of the desk as she stood, and she dropped her gaze to the papers in front of her. They stood there awkwardly, waiting for her to speak.

"Thank you for telling us, guys. I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear such good news." Diana said after a few long moments. They nodded, and returned their gaze to Aramis who stood as a statue behind the desk, unmoving and lost in thought.

"Should we leave you?" Chuck asked after another pause. Diana's eyes flitted up to Aramis, waiting for any kind of signal or response. She plastered a kind smile across her face and looked back to Chuck and Don.

"Just give us a couple minutes." She said sweetly. "Thank you again for giving us an update. Wait for us downstairs? We shouldn't be long." They nodded and turned toward the door to take their leave. Before he exited, Don cast another look back at Aramis. His face was etched with worry and sympathy, and Diana couldn't have loved him more for it. She caught his gaze as she moved to close the door behind him. He stared at her, and she knew exactly what he felt: the worry, the anxiety, and the fear that Aramis was imploding before their eyes. She smiled at him softly and nodded, trying to reassure him that everything would be fine, though how much truth there was in her action she couldn't be certain. She closed the door behind them and turned back around, striding confidently back to the desk where Aramis still stood.

"Did she talk?" Aramis' voice echoed through the silence, startling her slightly. She took a deep breath and straightened her posture, standing as confidently in front her friend as she wished she felt.

"It took some convincing. But yes, she talked." Aramis' eyes flitted up to Diana and held her gaze.

"And…?"

"She's been a German Agent from the beginning. Their plan was for her to be recruited by the agency, though Katherine has no idea how they found out about its formation, gain a leadership position, and then filter all their plans back to the German High Command." Aramis' eyes narrowed and she looked back at the papers across the desk.

"So what went wrong?" She asked, her voice deadpan. Diana cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You, apparently." Diana matched Aramis' tone. Her head swung up to look at Diana in surprise. "That's why she was always so competitive with you. You were in her way." She shook her head. "I guess Vaughn had some kind of suspicion about her. He never put her on any critical missions. And I guess he never gave her any real access to the files, so she wasn't able to send much out to them."

"Are we compromised?"

"Apparently not. She said the files she sent with all of our information kept getting intercepted and never made it back to them. They know our real names, but they have no idea what we look like, which is good I suppose." Aramis rolled her eyes.

"So if she hadn't gotten them anything tangible, why blow her cover now?"

"I guess her handler was killed in one of Patton's assaults. She was called back by the German Intelligence Commanders, which is why she bolted." Aramis stood silent for a moment, absorbing everything she had just heard.

"There's one more thing, Aramis." Diana's voice broke the silence. She looked up at her friend. "She said this wasn't her first time trying to get away." Diana paused. Aramis' face hardened. "The assault on our transport yesterday was…" She stopped again. The silence hung between them like an iron curtain.

"It was what, Diana." Aramis said harshly.

"It was meant to be her break. The objective was to kill all of us as a plausible cover for her disappearance. She seemed very proud to tell me that it was her plan. She claimed that it wasn't a failure because you were seriously injured and Vaughn was killed."

Aramis was very still as her eyes fluttered closed, and Diana was sure she had stopped breathing all together. Her knuckles were white as her fingers curled into fists and pressed into the wood. Diana watched her carefully, waiting for a sign of how to proceed. Aramis pushed herself away from the desk suddenly, striding toward the door with more intent and purpose than Diana had ever seen from her. She threw the door open and exited the room, and Diana made sure she was right behind her. As she blew past Chuck and Don who were waiting patiently in the foyer of the small house, she drew her sidearm from her utility belt and continued down the second flight of stairs that led into the cellar. Diana caught Chuck's eye as she walked past, and the two of them followed without a second thought.

Aramis kicked the heavy cellar door open as though it were a piece of cardboard and stepped into the dimly lit room. The subterranean cellar was damp and cold, the smell of must, oxidized wine, and mold permeated the space. Katherine was toward the rear, bound by thick ropes to an old chair Diana had retrieved from the dining room. Her lip was bleeding, and she stared at them through cold eyes as they filtered into the room. Aramis stood directly in front of her, her face sharp and severe. Every muscle in her body was tense, and she clutched the pistol in her hand as tightly as she could. Katherine started to laugh, a light musical tone that floated through the air eerily. Diana tensed as she watched from her position behind Aramis, unsure and terrified of what might happen next.

"So this is what it's come to, eh Stark?" Katherine said as she stared up at Aramis. "Always the golden girl." She spat disdainfully. Aramis' lips pursed as she stared.

"Cut the shit, Katherine. Don't pretend this is about me." Katherine scoffed and rolled her eyes dramatically.

"You Americans. That's your favorite line, isn't it? You fuck everything up, and when shit actually hits the fan and comes back to bite you in the ass, you feign innocence, forgetting all the culpability you have in the situation at hand." Aramis looked at her with hard eyes as she listened.

"Why?" She said, unmoved. Katherine scoffed again.

"Why what?"

"All of this." Aramis said gesturing around the room nebulously. "Why do it?"

"For my home. For my family. For Deutschland." The blonde whispered.

"For revenge." Aramis finished for her. "Revenge never works, Katherine. I think this war with prove that." Katherine's eyes narrowed as her lip curled and her nostrils flared.

"There's the American superiority. You think you know everything. You think you can do everything. And you think you're above everyone else. You sat there, looking down your elitist noses at us while our families starved and went hungry. You sided with the French, the people who destroyed our country and our lives for revenge. You refused to aid us or assist us, leaving us at the mercy of our neighbors, turning a blind eye while we burned money because firewood was more valuable than the strips of paper that should have purchased our food. When we immigrated to America, you stuck in slums and ghettos, forcing us to work tireless and thankless jobs for meager earnings that barely kept us from dying of starvation. You, the land of opportunity, the "melting pot of the world," you treated us like we were nothing. You treated us like we were worth nothing. What makes you better than us? Tell me, almighty Aramis Stark. You, the titan of industry, the brilliant scientist, maker of wars. What makes you better?" Aramis pursed her lips and stared at the woman before her. The silence stretched on for what felt like eons. Then, Aramis spoke again.

"Diana informed me you said the other members of the unit aren't compromised. I'm having a hard time believing that." She changed the subject, unmoved by Katherine's impassioned speech. Her captive started to laugh again.

"Your precious covers are intact. Every attempt I made at sending your information or photographs to my handlers was intercepted. I know this because it was never the same runner twice, and my handlers continued to request it with greater and greater urgency. They claim they never received the intelligence, and I have no reason to doubt them." Aramis lunged suddenly, gripping the arm rests of the chair and thrusting her face in front of Katherine's.

"Are you lying to me?" She asked dangerously. Katherine met her gaze, her frosted blue eyes boring into Aramis' stone grey.

"What reason do I have to lie?" She whispered back, matching Aramis' tone. "My handler is dead, you've captured me, and I know they have heard all about it. We went through the same training, Stark. We both know what happens to people they suspect of espionage."

"You're one of theirs." Diana chimed in, deadpanning the obvious.

"And if I somehow reappeared in Germany, don't you think they would be just a little suspicious of how I made it out alive? They will do worse to me than you ever could. My only option now is to cooperate and face your death penalty for treason." She replied calmly, returning her attention to Aramis. "You could walk into the Fuhrer's house tomorrow and no one would give a second thought to who you were." She said, leaning forward and mirroring Aramis' stance. They were silent, staring at one another harshly, challenging one another through their gaze. Aramis pushed away and took a few steps back.

"But you did try to have us killed." She stated. Katherine's lips curled into a dangerous smirk.

"That's my only true regret. That I couldn't watch you die on some deserted road in the middle of Belgium like you deserve. To have your body swept away into the chaos of the war, your family never knowing what happened to you, your friends wondering about you for the rest of their lives. I told them to kill you slowly, you know. That's why he attacked you with the knife. They could have shot each of you easily. Quick, painless, no question of what happened. But I wanted to stand over you as you died and tell you that I had won. That Germany would have its vengeance, and you would never see how wonderful it would be. I guess I'll have to settle for knowing that Vaughn Craft finally got what was coming to him. I'm just sad it couldn't have been more drawn out and agonizing. He didn't deserve a quick death, though it was heartwarming to watch you desperately try to save him. I'll never forget how well you just snapped into the leadership role, barking at people to load his bleeding body into the back of the truck even though you knew there was nothing…" The tirade was silenced as Aramis brought the heel of her gun across Katherine's cheek, a backhanded blow that sent her head reeling to the side and caused the others in the room to jump in surprise.

She was quivering with anger as the room fell silent. Don, Chuck, and Diana leaned forward, bracing on the balls of their feet, ready to intervene if they needed to. The tension was suffocating.

Katherine's head recoiled to a neutral position slowly. She stared up at Aramis with hard eyes. A smug smile that was tainted red with blood was plastered over her face as she watched Aramis' whole body ripple with anxiety. Her right hand began to tighten around her pistol, the skin of her knuckles turning a ghostly shade of white as the blood was forced from her skin. She clenched and unclenched her left fist as she stared. Her face was neutral, almost calm, a serene mask of indifference she was struggling to maintain as she stared into the face of the rival who had truly become her enemy.

Aramis raised her sidearm and pointed it at Katherine, the barrel coming to rest lightly against her forehead. She stared it down with confidence, meeting Aramis' gaze fearlessly. Diana's body was still as she watched the scene unfold before her. Her arms were at her sides still, tense and ready to leap into action, though she didn't know what she would do if she did. Diana respected any decision she made. She would support her in anything, and would follow her through the gates of hell if that was what it took, but this was something more than that, and Diana struggled to wrap her head around her own feelings.

Katherine deserved to die for her crimes. She deserved to lose her life for killing Claire, for trying to kill Esther, and for orchestrating the attack that seriously injured Aramis and robbed them of Vaughn. But Aramis did not deserve this burden that had been thrust upon her shoulders. Vaughn told them a thousand times, beat it into their heads, killing changes you. Each of them had killed in the fields of war, in service of their country, and they all had blood on their hands. But this was different. This was not shooting an unnamed soldier from 1,000 yards with a sniper rifle to ensure their assets, civilians, were able to make it back to safety. This was not firing back at the S.S. who chased them out of Bastogne. This was not killing in the heat of battle to save themselves from death. This was an execution, and Diana wasn't sure Aramis would be able to recover from it.

She studied Katherine's face carefully, trying to make sense of the double agent's expression. Diana had seen people confronted with their own mortality. She had done it herself more times than she would care to remember. But no matter how brave any one person claimed to be, no matter how unafraid they attempted to appear, the veneer would always crack. Fear is a part of us. The fear of death is a survival instinct so ingrained in every person that it would always show in the end. But Katherine didn't look afraid. She looked determined. She looked desperate. Most of all, Katherine looked as if there was nothing she wanted more than for Aramis to give in to her urge and pull the trigger. Diana didn't move or breathe. She didn't dare to do so. She watched, full of dread as the world moved in slow motion and prayed it would be over soon.

Don didn't know what to do. Every part of him was screaming to intervene, to tell her to lower the gun and try to think rationally for a few moments before she did something she couldn't take back. But it wasn't his place to intervene. Not only did she outrank him, he had no idea what their protocols dictated in this situation. It was none of his business, and his inner soldier told him to stay quiet and stand back. But every part of this felt wrong. He could see her struggle, almost as though the battle over pulling the trigger was being waged before his eyes. Her emotions were threatening to completely suspend her reason, and he knew she felt it too.

She wasn't an executioner. She wasn't like Spiers. She wasn't like any of them. She didn't need revenge to make herself whole, and she didn't need to inflict suffering to make herself feel vindicated for her own. She would feel no resolution from this action, no peace, and no catharsis. If she pulled the trigger, he knew it would haunt her for the rest of her life, and he felt an almost overwhelming compulsion to stop her. But he was powerless to do so, and he knew it. So he watched, resting on pins and needles as he hoped she would see reason.

Aramis saw the perspiration on Katherine's forehead, the tiny droplets falling into the depression where the gun rested against her skin. She exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding and stared at the blonde woman in front of her. Their gazes were locked, and Katherine glared at her with a fierce defiance that Aramis found striking. The silence was deafening, like a cacophony of white noise that overwhelmed her senses.

"Do it, Stark." Katherine broke the silence, her voice soft and intense. "You know you want to." Aramis continued to stare at her, unmoving, almost as though she were a statue. She moved her pointer finger from the side of the guns barrel to rest over the trigger, looping over the cold metal with gentle silence. She brought her thumb to the hammer and pulled it back, loading a bullet into the chamber and cocking the pistol for fire. "Do it, Stark." Katherine repeated. She sat forward in her chair and pressed her forehead against the barrel more intently. The room was silent as all eyes fell upon the two women in the center of the room, embroiled in their final struggle for power.

"You want to know what makes me better than you, Katherine?" Aramis' voice broke the silence. Her gray eyes stayed locked on Katherine's ice blue. She stared her down as the dark metal pressed further into her pallid skin and felt her finger itching against the thin strip of the trigger. "This."

Aramis pushed the ball of her right foot away from the ground and spun on her heel. The pistol fell against her right thigh as she turned away from her nemesis, her grip falling loose as she strode toward the door. She paused briefly when she reached Diana.

"Ship her off to Bern with my compliments." She said tersely. Her gaze remained forward, focused intently on the staircase in front of her. Diana looked at her with a sad pride.

"Gladly." She whispered as the tears began to well in her eyes. Aramis stalked away without another word, holding the gaze of every eye in the room as she moved up the stairs and out of their view.

* * *

Her hands were shaking and her chest was tight. She needed to get out of that room. She could hear Katherine's voice behind her, yelling in desperate anger as she strode out of the room. But she couldn't make out a single word she said, the enunciations and phonemes falling into a single, nebulous, and incomprehensible sound wave. She took the stairs two at a time, her torso rigid and stiff and her gaze firmly forward. It seemed like the walls were moving inward, closing in on her as if they meant to swallow her whole. The light began to fade, and her vision slowly lowered into darkness.

There were a myriad voices in her head, screaming with the passion of a thousand emotions. Pride, rage, excitement, disappointment, fear, congratulations, fury, despair, vindication, joy, angst, love and innumerable others vied and clawed for her attention. Her chest felt tighter, and she began to hyperventilate as she felt she was losing her ability to breathe. She found herself in the office where she and Diana had been making their plans with her back against the door as she slowly slid to the ground.

'_What have I done?'_ She thought to herself. She drew her knees into her chest as she pressed her back against the door. Her gun was still in her hand as she clutched at her head, willing the voices to be silent. She took deep breaths, gulping air into her lungs as though she had been holding her breath underwater.

'_Stop.'_ She said to herself. _'You are fine. You can breathe. You know where you are. You are safe. You are okay.'_ She repeated the chant to herself in her head, over and over until her breathing slowed and the muscles in her chest began to relax. She lost track of time as she sat there, curled up against the door, willing herself out of her own nightmare. When she was finally able to breathe normally, and the last of her panic had ebbed, she leaned her head back against the aged wood door and laid her hands by her sides. The pistol made a distinct tapping sound as it connected with the wood. She had forgotten she was holding it.

There was a knock at the door, and she felt the reverberations through her back as she continued to take deep, calming breaths.

"Just a minute." She called. She stood slowly, pushing herself from the floor with trepidation. She pushed her hair back from her face and turned around. She placed her hand on the doorknob and opened it calmly to find Don on the other side.

"Hey." He said, his voice and face full of worry. "Are you alright?" She beckoned for him to come in, opening the door wider to allow him passage.

"Yes, I'm fine." She replied. Her voice was flat and emotionless, and she avoided his eyes. She turned and walked back to the desk. He followed her into the room, stopping on the other side of the wooden structure and watched her as she stood before him. "Can I help you with something?" She asked dully as she lowered herself into the desk chair. He cocked his head to the side and looked at her with confusion.

"Am I disturbing you?" He asked, his tone slightly accusatory. She sighed and leaned against the desk, her elbows crinkling the scattered papers as they absorbed the weight. She placed her head into her hands, occluding her face from his view. She sighed deeply, holding the breath for a few measures before exhaling.

"No. No, I'm sorry. It's been a…" She paused and cocked her head to the side, pulling her face from her hands. "…Very eventful 36 hours."

"Then I'll ask again, are you okay?" He asked, his tone firmer and more insistent.

"Yes." She said, mirroring his firmness. She leaned back against the chair, looking up at him with moderate defiance. "I'm fine. Thank you for asking." Her tone bordered on terse, and her gratitude was clearly only in language rather than intention.

He stared at her. He knew she was lying. The walls in the house weren't very thick. He heard her gasping for air from the hallway, and it took every ounce of strength he had to stay behind the door and allow her the privacy she wanted. He rolled his eyes and looked out the window behind her. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, and he knew he needed to get back to his platoon to get everything organized before their transports began to arrive. His eyes fell back on her. She was staring at him with a dull intensity, as though what little attention she had left was focused directly on him.

"You should be more careful with your isolationism, Aramis." He said boldly. She cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh?" She replied, daring him to continue.

"If you keep pushing people away, eventually they'll stop coming back"

"You say that as though I needed them there in the first place." She challenged. He knew she was just being contrary, but it infuriated him nonetheless. She was staring at him defiantly, like a petulant child who was just told she couldn't have her way. She was acting like his little sister Marilyn when he and his brothers would tell her she was wrong or tease her, and looking at him in the same way Marilyn used to just before she screamed for their mother to intervene Marilyn never got away with it, and Aramis wasn't going to get away it either.

Her selfishness boggled the mind, and he was at a loss for why he bothered to check on her. She would always act, no matter how poorly, as though nothing was wrong, and then react with varying degrees of hostility whenever someone questioned her.

"What is wrong with you?" He exclaimed. "I know how hard everything has been for you, Aramis, but Jesus Christ, you certainly aren't making it easier for anyone else. I know all you've been trying to do is make it easier, and that's literally all you think about, but you're not. You suck at talking about your feelings, which is probably why you get along with the boys so well. And because of that you try to show people that you care about them instead of telling them. You show your affection and your feelings through your actions, and that's fine, but Jesus Christ it's getting old. You show us in such a thankless, maternal, almost condescending way that it makes me want to scream at you sometimes. You safeguard people from what you think might hurt them, but then you adamantly and desperately try to hide any effect it might have on you. And you know what? You suck at that too. We know this is killing you. I just spent the only day of rest I will probably have for God knows how long on pins and needles because I was fucking terrified that you were going to implode from the pressure you've been putting on yourself. We aren't your children, or some stupid glass figurines on a shelf that will shatter to pieces if we're disturbed. We're adults. We've had training, and, surprise! We can handle things that come our way too." She stared at him as he yelled at her, her dark eyes boring holes into his skull. If looks could kill, Don would have been on the ground bleeding and gasping at his last breath.

"Do not. EVER. Presume. To know me." She enunciated each component of the phrase pointedly, her voice deadly soft and dangerously low. He laughed derisively and shook his head.

"You're not nearly as opaque or unpredictable as you think you are, Stark." He threw back. "All of us are here. All of us are going through shit. And we may not be going through as much as you are, but we're still here, and you didn't really give us much of a choice in the matter." She sat there in silence, staring at him with her arms across her chest and one leg looped tightly over the other in the most passive-aggressive posture he had ever seen from her. He stared back, waiting anxiously for her rebuttal. But none came. The silence hung between them like a thick, viscous cloud. He snorted angrily and rolled his eyes. "Not everything is about you." He turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

"Wait." Her voice called from behind him. He stopped, his hand resting on the doorknob. He heard her stand from the chair, and he turned his head over his left shoulder to peek at her from his periphery. "Is that what you think?" She asked, her voice much softer and more gentle, a stark contrast to her earlier words. "That I'm trying to take away your choice? That I think you can't take care of yourselves? That I think so little of you and your ability to cope with the war?" He paused for a moment and sighed as he stood stoic and still in front of the door.

"I think you've been trying so hard to take care of everyone else, you've become blind to how badly you're hurting them." He turned the doorknob quickly and took his leave, exiting the office and striding down the hallway with a haste that surprised her. She listened to his footfalls as he walked away, the heaviness of his boots created echoes as they fell against the aged wood floors. She heard the front door open and close, and she knew he was gone. Silence fell over the room, and she stared blankly ahead as her thoughts engulfed and consumed her.

* * *

"I never did give anybody hell. I just told the truth and they thought it was hell." – Harry S. Truman.

Here's to the truth, Don.

More pleas for reviews. Please tell me what you think.


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